Bring it on Hogwarts
by Mother of Tears
Summary: As a punishment for rude, antisocial behavior, Dumbledore assigns Professor Snape as the Faculty Advisor to the new Hogwarts Cheerleading Team. Poor old Sev will never be the same again!
1. Disciplinary Action

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates. I am only borrowing them to make them do things their original creator would never, EVER have dreamed of. Cheers!

_This story is very AU. I came up with the idea about six months before the HBP came upon the scene and burst the bubbles of so many of our fics. But I like this story and had such fun writing it down that I just had to share it with you. _

_Have you ever been to a Cheerleading Competition? Everyone should experience it just once... if only for a laugh! I had to attend quite a few of them in the last couple of years-- possibly as punishment for past crimes. As I sat through one of them, with my earplugs safely in, I tried to imagine how bizarre these events would look to someone of another culture or another time. As my favorite fanfiction is Harry Potter, of course I imagined someone from the Potterverse stuck in the bleachers, holding their ears, and gaping. Naturally, that character had to be Severus Snape! After all, if I have to suffer through it, so can he..._

**BRING IT ON, HOGWARTS!**

**Chapter 1: _Disciplinary Action_**

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" Severus Snape stood in front of Albus Dumbledore's desk stiff and unreadable. His quiet, silky voice betraying a touch of feigned boredom and imperfectly hidden impatience.

"Yes, Severus," said the Hogwarts Headmaster in his mild, pleasantly cordial manner-- a manner which irritated the Potions master more than it soothed him. "Please sit down. I need to speak to you about something."

Snape eyed him ironically but sat down with a graceful flourish of long black robes. "How may I help you?" he asked.

"It is a disciplinary matter, unfortunately," was Dumbledore's sad reply.

"Which of my students?" asked Snape darkly.

"None of them, actually," mused Dumbledore with irony. "Regrettably, I am speaking about you."

Snape's eyes narrowed. His posture of bored nonchalance instantly altered to one of still, quiet watchfulness, like an animal unused to being hunted suddenly sensing that it had possibly now become prey. A flash of fury hovered momentarily in his eyes before he forced his expression back to one of studied, relaxed indifference.

"I have just received an owl," the Headmaster continued in almost fatherly disapproval, "from Lady Breckenridge. A long letter containing great lengths of complaining parchment concerning the way you have spoken to her recently."

"Really?" Snape raised a negligent brow but maintained his stony calm.

"Really. She was most upset with you, and with Hogwarts because of it. She threatened to remove her son and place him in Durmstrang because of the way you treated her."

Snape made a disgusted noise. "Oh, let her, Albus!" he drawled scornfully. "That might be the best solution for the boy, after all. Here, I can only give him detention, which seems to have no effect on him whatsoever. What he needs is some strong, hard discipline... which he _obviously _doesn't get at home! Since the disciplinary methods of Durmstrang are legendary, if he is sent there on my account, I will actually have done the little twerp an enormous favor!"

Albus Dumbledore eyed him levelly.

"I certainly agree, Severus, that Bevis Breckenridge can be a bit of a problem, and that firmer discipline in his case would not be amiss, but the point of this interview is actually not him but you.It is _your_ behavior I wish to speak about." He paused. "Did you really call the boy a blithering idiot to his mother's face and accuse his parents of having spider dung for brains?"

The Potions master rolled his eyes to the ceiling and examined it in a carefully studied pose of disinterest.

"And did you actually intimate that the entire Breckenridge family showed signs of simian descent?"

Snape shrugged. "Possibly. I can't remember my exact words, but I suppose I could have said that, or perhaps something even much more colorful. Did you know that Muggles actually believe they are related to apes, that they are in fact cousins to them? It would certainly explain a great deal."

"And did you really inform Mr. Leo Ferrars that the reason his daughter Emma failed your class was because she spent all of her free time seducing the entire Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Griffindor Quiddich teams and was too weary to do her homework?"

Severus smirked. "Well, it IS the truth, Albus!"

"I notice you left out the Slytherin team in your accusation," he noted dryly.

"The Slytherin team has more sense, not to mention taste! Honestly, Albus, that girl is an instructor's nightmare! Not only can she not keep her mind on her own potion, but she makes a singular effort to take as many other minds off their cauldrons as she can. She's the worst distraction I've ever seen! She guarantees an accident in class once a week."

"I'd hoped that I wouldn't need to remind you that the proper method of dealing with that is not to call her mother a brothel Madam and her father a Troll-wit."

"I could have said worse!" fumed Snape sourly. "I've met Trolls, and even Giants, with greater intellectual capacity and charm than Leo Ferrars. And as for the always delightful Mrs. Ferrars, there should be a law preventing bovine and asinine miscegenation! I told them that too."

"Now honestly, Severus!" Dumbledore's gentle voice had a sharp edge to it. "Was that really necessary? Think of the impression you are making on these parents, not to mention the image you are giving them of this school!"

"And I ask you, Albus," countered Snape, "Is it really in the best interest of this school to continually suffer these fools gladly? Haven't we a better reputation to uphold than that?"

"My dear Severus," said Dumbledore in slow, reproving regret, "there is a very big difference between suffering fools gladly and becoming one yourself."

Snape sat up in ramrod straight indignation, his face a study of hot, thunderstruck fury.

"EXCUSE me, Headmaster!" he spat, far too incensed for any polite show of deference. "You, yourself, were not present at any of the interviews in question! You fail to take into account the insulting manner with which these individuals approached ME. I refuse to be dictated to, threatened, or condescended to by people whose brain capacity is smaller than my left toenail, and whose understanding of my subject of expertise is less than their moronic offspring!"

"And by responding in kind, Severus, and worse, you willing descend to their level. Surely you can see that a little self control on your part would do far more for your personal dignity, as well as the dignity of the institution that employs you."

The Headmaster's mild blue eyes were locked on Snape's furious black ones like the horns of an alpha bull to those of a rival.

"It never fails to amaze me," he continued, "how someone with your incredible intellect and accomplishments simply cannot see how foolish your bad temper and your rude, antisocial behavior make you appear."

Snape opened his mouth to speak but failed to find any words to throw back at his superior. He obviously was not accustomed to viewing his actions and speech in this sort of light.

Dumbledore noticed his subordinate's hesitation and continued to drive home his point, but with less harshness in his fatherly tone.

"You are a more than competent teacher, Severus. There have been no serious accidents in the Potions Lab since I hired you seventeen years ago, and your students have a higher than average pass rate in the O.W.L.'s and the N.E.W.T's. You also have a personal mastery of your subject like few others I know of. But, apart from that, you give little else to the job.

"You are reclusive, disagreeable, moody, and rude to students, parents, and staff alike. You pride yourself upon being the scourge of the school. You seem to feel that it is your personal responsibility to hunt down and punish every lawbreaker you can find. Apart from serving as a Quiddich referee, which you only do if you are forced to, you participate in no extracurricular activities. You take on no apprentices. You head no clubs or organizations. And you even refuse to share the rare and out of print books you are hoarding in your own private collection!"

He looked sternly and mournfully for a moment at his mutinous Potion's master before going on. "For your own good, my boy, I am proposing disciplinary action."

Snape looked up sharply. Alarm was dawning in his eyes.

"Now, I'm doing my best not to be too severe with you. But in your case, it may be all for the best."

The Potion's master appeared almost mesmerized with horror. "You are not going to... dismiss me... are you?" His voice was almost faint.

"Oh no, Severus," said Dumbledore soothingly. "Nothing so drastic as that! My aim is to encourage you to be a better teacher, not prevent you from doing the job. But I am going to assign you some extra duties..." Snape looked immediately relieved.

"Now, I do realize that your severe wit and sarcasm are part of your unique personality, but they can be tamed. They can, and must, be controlled. And I do think you need to get out of the dungeons more often. As luck would have it, a need has just arisen which I think you would fill admirably. Therefore, I am assigning you as Faculty Advisor to the new Hogwarts Cheerleading Team."

There was a long and poisonous pause.

"The _WHAT?_"

"The new Hogwarts Cheerleading Team."

The Potions master stared at his superior in stunned disbelief.

"That is what I heard you say, Headmaster," he said tartly, "but it makes no sense whatsoever. What are these cheers, and how does one go about leading them? I have never heard of anything, even remotely, like this in my life."

"I doubt you would, my boy. It is, after all, a Muggle sport."

Snape's eyes widened. He pronounced his next sentence carefully, each syllable enunciated in soft, deliberate scorn.

"And why, pray tell, are we practicing a _Muggle_ sport here at a _Wizard_ institution?"

"Because, my dear Severus, the Ministry feels that it would be a good idea."

Dumbledore faced the incredulous Snape with serene tolerance, and settled back in his chair as if preparing for a lengthy story-- or a siege.

"In the long history of our people, there has always been an understood need for secrecy. We live amidst the greater Muggle world, but we are separate-- not of them"

Snape nodded judiciously, and rather fervently to that.

"And we have gone to great lengths to achieve this. Many wizards have no contact at all with Muggles, and most have no real understanding of their world-- an odd thing when one considers the magnitude of our differences in total population. They outnumber us hundreds, possibly thousands, to one, yet most wizards have only a vague understanding of them. They, of course, have been kept strictly in the dark concerning us, and we work constantly to maintain that secrecy."

He looked ironically at his dark, brooding Potions master and sighed.

"That secrecy has been breaking down in recent years. In this latest struggle against dark forces, our war with Voldemort, so many Muggles were involved and affected that some measure of cooperation with Muggle authorities had to be sought. As a result, there are now more Muggles who know about us than there have been for centuries-- and these Muggles only know about us in unpleasant terms. This is not a good situation."

The look he sent Snape was sobering.

"More and more non-magical people have heard of our school. Most, thankfully, have only heard the name of it, and we really don't want them to learn any more. We also don't want them to see us as alarming and dangerous. Therefore, the Ministry of Magic wishes us to reach out to the Muggle community in the realm of sports and games. The idea is that competing with them in their own athletic traditions will demystify us and make us appear normal to them-- normal enough for them to ignore us, perhaps. By remaining too much of an enigma, the Ministry feels we will only be encouraging Muggle curiosity, which, of course, could lead to some awkwardness and possible danger."

Snape nodded thoughtfully, frowning slightly as he attempted to digest what he had just heard.

"And so we must compete against Muggle schools on their own playing fields?" he asked.

"Yes. Essentially, that is the idea-- except that we have encountered some fundamental problems in implementing this idea."

"Problems such as..."

"Well, for the most part, few wizards have any experience in Muggle games. We haven't the slightest idea how to play them, or indeed, even what some of them are. In fact, we would not have been able to comply with the Ministry directive at all this year if Miss Hermione Granger hadn't offered to assist us in starting up a Muggle- style cheerleading team."

Snape rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed loudly.

"I knew it! I just knew Granger had to be involved in this somehow! What did she do, discover a book on the subject?"

Dumbledore smiled mildly and continued in a relentlessly affable tone.

"Reading material on the subject does exist, Severus, and I'm sure Miss Granger could procure some for you. We are very, very fortunate to have a Muggleborn student in our midst who actually has extensive expertise in this sport. Miss Granger has two older sisters who have competed in it nationally, and she, herself, has been training in the physical disciplines involved since she was five or six. This physical training was one of the things that helped her recover so quickly from her war injuries and return to us.

"But come, Severus. You need to see them in action. Cheerleading really is an impressive sport. Once you witness it, I'm sure you'll agree with me. They should still be practicing in one of the first floor rooms. If we leave now, we should be able to catch them at it."

Snape rose with pronounced reluctance. While he trusted Dumbledore as he trusted no other, he had no faith at all in the old man's _taste_. The headmaster was a formidable wizard, but he was also a known eccentric. Their personalities were at opposite poles, and Snape felt that whatever Dumbledore had in store for him, it would never be something he would find pleasant. But he stiffly followed the headmaster. There wasn't much else he could do.


	2. An Introduction to Madness

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 2: _An Introduction to Madness_**

Snape followed his superior to the Hogwarts first floor, wondering what sort of absurd sport could be practiced in a spare room in the school. Sports were outdoor activities, weren't they? At least wizard sports were. But this was, after all, something Muggle. Who knew what sort of ridiculous high-jinks they got up to. He wished with all his might that he could turn around and head back to his office (and barricade himself in,) but he knew that wasn't a viable option for him. Dumbledore kept leading him onward, toward the old duel-practice hall near the exit to the greenhouses.

As they approached, the sounds of human voices raised in what sounded like a song, echoed down the hall..

"One, TWO, three, FOUR, five, SIX, seven, EIGHT..."

"One, TWO, three, FOUR, five, SIX, seven, EIGHT..."

They turned the corner to enter the chamber, and Snape suddenly stopped, transfixed in horrified shock. He immediately attempted to avert his eyes, but before he could do so, he received a clear view of the strange tableau taking place in the room.

At least a dozen scantily clad girls were scampering about on a large floor mat, shouting their bizarre numerical chant, and attempting to lift a few of each other over their shoulders and into the air. Snape hastily attempted to pull the headmaster out of the room.

"Sweet Merlin, Albus, they have almost nothing on! And in an open chamber? This is scandalous! Anyone could have walked in. Did you have any idea?"

"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore said soothingly. "Relax. I see nothing scandalous. They're simply wearing Muggle athletic attire."

"And you allow it?" Snape hissed. "They're indecent! They're practically naked..."

"Oh, come now, Severus. They're certainly not _naked._ All their essentials are covered."

"Their legs are almost completely bare, as well as their arms, and what little covering they do have leaves nothing of their forms to the imagination. If that isn't indecent, I don't know what is!"

"Actually," continued Dumbledore serenely, as he led his reluctant, fuming Potions master back into the room, "their present attire is rather conservative by Muggle standards. Their torsos are completely covered."

"Well, I should think so!" sputtered an indignant Snape, who added under his breath, "I've seen better covered prostitutes in Knockturn Alley..."

"Oh, come now. Have you never been to the seashore, my boy? To a Muggle beach on a hot day?"

"An _ocean beach_? I can think of better places to be in hot weather! What possible reason would I have to go to a spot like that? Preciously few potion ingredients can be found in the sand. What Muggles would find to do there, I have no idea."

Snape watched in scowling fascination, as the girls broke into formations of four in which each group hoisted a girl over their heads by one leg, where she posed for a moment with her other leg pointed lasciviously outward. One girl teetered and lost her balance, and was caught by the others of her group.

"Muggles go to the beach to bathe," said Dumbledore.

"In the sea?"

"Yes."

"I always knew Muggles were stupid, Albus, but I gave them more credit than that! Have they any idea what is actually _in_ sea water? And they bathe in it? They'd come out dirtier than they went in. Although, being Muggles, perhaps they wouldn't notice."

"They don't take _baths _in the sea, Severus, they swim in it for fun." Dumbledore sounded amused.

"Really?" Snape continued scathingly. "Splashing about in a poisonous potion concoction is not my idea of fun." He was searching the faces of the girls surreptitiously as he spoke, looking for students from his house. "And I suppose they do that dressed like this?"

"They wear clothing much _more_ revealing, actually. Honestly, Severus, you must get out more! You are too insulated, too hidebound-- a perfect example of what is wrong with the Wizard World today. There's far too much smugness and isolation, far too much misunderstanding. We are a minority people in the midst of the Muggle world. It's a disgrace for us to be so ignorant about it!"

Severus had counted four girls from Slytherin house taking part in this maniacal exercise-- Erica Brockelhurst, Sylvia Thornton, Jacqueline Ross, and Alicia Podmore. He winced inwardly upon seeing Miss Podmore. Her mother, Camilla Rice Podmore, was a proud woman and very conscious of her high social position. What would she say to him if she knew her daughter was exposing herself in such skimpy attire, or that he, as head of her house, had looked at her daughter's legs? And Dumbledore wanted him to be a faculty advisor to this? It was complete and utter madness.

"Albus, have you any idea what the parents of these children will say about their daughters taking part in this Muggle 'sport'?"

"Don't worry, my boy. They've already given their permission. The girls are earning extra credit for their efforts at Wizard/Muggle cooperation."

"Do they know their offspring are cavorting about half dressed?"

"Now Severus, I do believe you are making a mountain out of a mole hill. I think it is time you actually see the sport."

He turned to the girls on the mat and called, "Miss Granger! Are you and the other girls ready for a demonstration?"

A figure extricated herself from the milling female crowd and called, "Coming right up, Professor!"

Until this time, Severus hadn't recognized the Griffindor Know-it-all. Her trademark bushy hair was bound tightly up into a bun on the top of her head, making her face look oddly bare without it's wild, thick nimbus of curls. It was bizarre seeing her barelegged and clad in only the briefest of coverings. Traditionally, he had always thought of her-- if he thought of her at all-- as a problem or irritation. Now that she was free from her veil of long, flowing robes, he couldn't help but notice that the bothersome, precocious child had definitely grown into a woman. That was something he didn't want to notice, and he glared sourly at her.

The other girls cast nervous glances his way. They crowded into a corner of the mat, heads together, and Severus couldn't help thinking that they were all talking about him. It was unnerving. He gave them a withering stare too.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione herded her team to the starting position at the corner of the mat.

"All set to go?" she asked.

"Did you see who's standing next to Dumbledore? It's Professor Snape!" warned Lucy Prendergast, the little Hufflepuff flyer from fourth year.

"I can't do this in front of Snape! He makes me nervous!" moaned Wanda Nutwinkle.

"Nonsense!" Hermione answered bracingly. "So what if Professor Snape is here? He can't hurt us. This isn't Potions class. He has no jurisdiction here. This is Professor Dumbledore's project, not his."

"Look at him! He's scowling at us!" whispered Amanda Marsh.

"Oh, he always does that," shrugged Hermione. "Listen! This is our chance to really show what we can do! We have a competition in just two weeks. Think about it. If we nail this routine in front of Professor Snape, we can do it in front of _anybody_! This is the perfect test run-- our hardest test run. We can do this! Lets make this our best performance yet!"

"Come on girls, we can do it!" She turned toward the two professors and shouted, "LET'S GO GIRLS!"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape heard Miss Granger shout, "Let's go girls!" And the whole gaggle of them ran screaming out onto the mat, waving their hands high in the air, grinning madly, and shaking their heads in what seemed to be a very provocative manner. They stood in a tight mass in the center of the mat and yelled in unison:

"LET'S GO, HOGWARTS! BRING IT ON!"

Instantly, a booming noise began reverberating around them, and a deep, unearthly voice intoned, from what sounded like the very walls:

**"We're gonna take you somewhere you ain't never been before!"**

The air erupted in a staccato burst of deafening sound. Noises resembling explosions in various tonal ranges thundered in a complicated, primal rhythm, and the girls on the mat rushed out of their tight formation to places on the edges and corners. Miss Granger took a position directly across from him, and while Snape watched, shell-shocked from the audio barrage, she took a couple of little running steps and, arms outstretched, pitched herself forward headfirst down onto the mat.

Snape couldn't help but blanch at the sight of a student, even Miss Granger, taking a nose-dive onto the floor. But instead of smashing her head, the girl landed on her outstretched hands and then, lifting her feet over her head, she made a graceful arc of her body, long legs sweeping over, back arching, until she landed nimbly on the balls of her feet, only to bounce up at landing to do it again. On the third rotation, Miss Granger didn't touch the floor with her hands at all. Instead, she gained a little more height and, tucking herself into a tight ball, did a perfect little midair somersault and landed on her feet only about a yard away from him.

She smiled joyfully into his face with flash of defiant triumph, punched her fists in the air to the beat of the barbarous music, and whirled around to repeat her performance all the way to the other side of the mat. Snape took a step back and closed his gaping mouth.

He spent the next few seconds vaguely aware of the activity taking place elsewhere on the mat. Various girls had been doing some sort of rolling moves on the outside boundaries, and two or three had careened across the central space from opposite outside corners and had narrowly missed each other. But his attention was primarily focused on what was happening at center stage. He had eyes only for Miss Granger's bold, incredible antics, her curving, arching body, and her graceful, flying legs. It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

As a Quiddich referee, Snape had witnessed countless feats of daring skill performed high in the air on broomsticks. He had watched the aerial rolls, and quick, darting dashes, and incredible, hair raising dives. But he had never seen anyone throw their own body into the air with such expert control and grace, or perform such fantastic moves without the apparent use of any magic at all. Severus was dumbfounded in spite of himself.

The girls grouped quickly together into three masses and each huddle lifted one girl into the air and held her up by one foot. The supported girls stood straight on one leg with one knee bent in front of them. They shook their heads saucily at him and then extended their bent legs behind them for a moment before falling in unison into the arms of their fellows. The music stopped, and they stood facing him in formation.

"**ONE!** (Clap) **TWO!** (Clap) **THREE!** (Clap) **FOUR!"**

"HOGWARTS FLYERS ARE ON (Clap. Clap) THE **FLOOR!" **

They all took a flying leap backward, head-over-heels, to land standing defiantly on their feet again.

"WE'RE THE TEAM THAT CAN'T BE BEAT!"

**"FLYERS!** (Clap) YOU KNOW IT!" (Clap, Clap)

Four girls ran to pick up flags that were by the side of the mat, and brought them to the front of the line.

"BLUE! YELLOW! RED! GREEN!"

Each flag displayed the crest of one of the four houses, and they were each waved on cue.

"WE FLY SO HIGH WE CAN'T BE SEEN!"

"GREEN! RED! YELLOW! BLUE!"

"LOOK OUT RIVALS, WE'VE COME (Clap, Clap) FOR **YOU!"**

The non- flag wavers pointed their fingers straight forward menacingly at the word "You," then the flags flew off to the sides and the girls stood in defiant formation, hands on hips, while they shouted,

"F -- L -- Y -- E -- R -- S!"

**"FLYERS!** ( Clap) LET'S HEAR IT!" (Stamp, Stamp.)

"F -- L -- Y -- E -- R -- S!"

**"FLYERS!** (Clap) THE **BEST!"**

Music started up again and the words to it, unbelievably, were:

_Do you believe in magic, in a young girl's heart?_

_How the music can free her whenever it starts,_

_And its magic..._

With smiles and swirls, the girls had begun to dance. They swung their hips and waved their arms together in a sort of bizarre, joyful chorus-line, their sweetly provocative moves a picture of youthful innocence and optimism.

_I'll tell you 'bout the magic, it'll free your soul, yeah... _

_Do you believe in magic?_

_Oh, I do believe in magic!_

Snape recognized that it wasn't the entire song. One of his few hobbies, over the years, had been Muggle music, and he knew that the piece had been shortened, chopped and spliced somehow. As he wondered how they did that, the dancers stopped in mid pose, and the music changed. This time it was to the driving beat of U2's "Elevation," although this song, too, had been cleverly edited, and it had been done so cunningly so as to make maximum use of it's fast-paced energy and power.

_High, higher than the sun. _

_You shoot me from a gun_

_Maybe you could educate my mind..._

The girls' movements were quicker, sharper as they drove their bodies at a furious pace. Some were doing one thing, others doing another, and it looked like wild confusion to Snape-- madness on a grand scale. A wild orgy of arms and legs and swinging hips.

_A mole, digging in a hole_

_Digging up my soul_

_Now commin' down_

_Excavation!_

Miss Granger and a couple of other girls did some more dizzying acrobatics, and then the entire group of girls banded together into formations again. In time to the wild pulse of the music, three girls were hoisted into the air and lowered again. Then they were virtually tossed into the air and caught again.

_I, and I, in the sky,_

_You make me feel like I can fly!_

_So High!_

_**Elevation!**_

All three groups clumped together and raised their girls next to each other so that the middle girl was holding a foot of the girl on either side of her. The music suddenly stopped and the entire assembly of defiantly grinning girls shouted:

**"GO HOGWARTS! BRING IT ON!"**

In the sort of vacuum created by the abrupt ceasing of the deafening music, Snape just stood frozen in incredulous shock. He was only vaguely aware of Albus Dumbledore clapping enthusiastically in the space next to him and shouting, "Well done, girls! Well done!" The girls came carefully down from their precarious pose and beamed back at the headmaster. They jumped about, hugging each other and panting from their exertions.

Snape absolutely couldn't believe it. He felt as though he had been forced to view a vision from the tortured mind of a St. Mungo's mental patient. _This _was what Dumbledore was insisting that he be involved in? This mayhem? It looked like some sort of arcane ritual rite-- like a primitive tribal Rain Dance, or the ancient fertility _Tarantella_.

How could the headmaster seriously promote Hogwarts students to participate in such a wild, perverted outrage? How could he, Severus Snape, have anything to do with it? Well, he _wouldn't, _that was all there was to it. He had his dignity, after all. He wasn't going to stoop to such a level, and he wasn't going to sully his robes with these weird Muggle goings on, that was for sure! He was a teacher, a serious professional. He had standards to uphold!

Miss Granger trotted over to where he stood, and he favored her with his best chilling glare, but she didn't give him any more than a polite, perfunctory glance and nod. She went directly, and confidently, to the headmaster.

"What did you think, Sir?" she asked joyfully.

Her voice was a little breathless from all the exercise she had just completed and her face was flushed pink with a healthy glow. Even her lips were red with it, and her eyes shone with sparkle. Snape had never seen her look like this before. She had always seemed pale and wan from too much work and too many hours in the library. And she had always seemed too serious, a girl carrying too much of the weight of the world on her shoulders-- or was that only the way she was around him? Severus was suddenly conscious of the fact that he was standing too near a young, well-formed, barelegged woman. He scowled even harder at her.

Professor Dumbledore beamed at Miss Granger. "That was an excellent performance, my dear! Very, very good! Everyone seems to have progressed well, the Patil sisters especially! And you'll be ready for the first competition?"

"I think so, sir," she said buoyantly. "There's still some more kinks to work out, and we have to make sure our routine has enough technical elements within the time limit, but I think we're just about ready. That was our best performance yet! What do you think of our music selections? Even Madam Hooch hasn't heard them yet."

"Oh, quite wonderful! I particularly liked the reference to magic. It seemed, somehow, most appropriate." His eyes sparkled as he continued. "But I do regret to inform you that there has to be a change in your plans concerning Madam Hooch."

Hermione looked at the headmaster questioningly. Snape noted no appearance of worry or lack of confidence, however. It was plain she trusted Dumbledore implicitly. _And so ends the_ _innocence of youth_, he thought wryly.

"Madam Hooch will not be able to continue on as the team's Faculty Advisor. She has found there are too many conflicts with your team's schedule and her Quiddich duties. I have, however, found a replacement."

Miss Granger beamed. Snape could see that she had not yet made the obvious connection, and he was sure that when she did, it would prove amusing.

"Who is it?" she asked innocently.

"Because of the short notice of Madam Hooch's stepping down, I asked Professor Snape to take the position, You will need someone who can learn the ropes, so to speak, in a very short time. As Professor Snape is the quickest study that I know of, it is a fortuitous thing that he has graciously accepted the position."

Severus stood with a little more stiffness and nodded as imperceptibly as he could.

Miss Granger didn't change her expression. She remained smiling, but it was a somewhat frozen smile. Her eyes darted between Snape and Dumbledore for a few seconds.

"Oh... Oh, well... That's good! Yes... Thank you."

Severus was a little disappointed. Her reaction hadn't been very spectacular, after all.

"I'm sure, Miss Granger, you'll want to give Professor Snape a chance to go over the rules of the sport and the various bits of information he will need to assist you properly."

"Oh, yes," she said, smile still courteously in place. Her voice was a little hesitant, however. "Madam Hooch has all my material right now. I could bring them to you later on..." Her eyes met his in polite entreaty.

"After dinner. In my office, Miss Granger." It was a cold, stiff reply.

"Yes. I'll be there. Thank you," she said carefully, before addressing the headmaster, "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore!" The smile she gave to him was far more warm. "I'm sure we'll be ready two weeks from now."

"I'm sure you will be, my dear. I look forward to hearing of your successes."

The headmaster withdrew from the room, and Snape, after glowering for another moment at the troupe of girls, followed quickly after him.

"You can't be serious, Albus!" he hissed furiously, as he followed Dumbledore's retreating form. "You can't honestly expect me to be involved with this ridiculous... this asinine..."

"Oh, yes I do, Severus," replied Dumbledore calmly, still striding leisurely toward his office. "I certainly do."

"But this is impossible! It's ridiculous! I _can't_!" sputtered Snape in almost a whisper, nervously glancing around the deserted corridor in the horrifying chance that some student might witness his discomfort.

"Yes, you can," came the unnerving reply, a reply subtly tinged with humor. "And yes, you will. And if I know you, being the perfectionist that you are, you will do so admirably."

"But.."

"Remember our earlier conversation, Severus." The serene tone colored imperceptibly with warning. "This is, after all, a disciplinary action. You _did _bring this on yourself. Just consider this whole thing a detention, and remember that it could have been far, far worse!"

He smiled jovially, and Snape stopped and stood like a statue in the middle of the empty hall, watching his headmaster continue until out of sight, a bitter scowl of resentment still on his face.

_Author's Note: I thought it might be fun to have Snape be a prude in this story. Prudes aren't necessarily innocent, frigid, or repressed... only strongly concerned with order and propriety. In the Potterverse, everyone wears long, flowing robes, and seems to exist in a world a couple hundred years behind the times. Puritanical comes to mind, or perhaps Victorian-- and people in those times were quite interested in carnal matters_. _They just tried to keep them safely hidden behind closed doors._


	3. A Hard Pill to Swallow

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 3: _A Hard Pill to Swallow_**

Severus stalked back to his office, fuming in righteous, impotent indignation. What had ever possessed Dumbledore to assign him, HIM, to this ridiculous position? It was bad enough to have the school participate in a Muggle sport, but this shocking activity couldn't look less like a sport to him. Sports involved opposing teams, balls of some kind, and a method of scoring goals. This looked like nothing more than a sort of bizarre dance. To his mind, a dance was a social event, not a sport one could compete in-- not even a dance where participants jumped onto each other's shoulders and did flips in the air.

He did have to admit, though, that those flips were impressive. Snape would never have believed Miss Granger capable of doing such things, even if he, himself, had been able to imagine them. He had seen the girl on a broomstick, and in that activity, she was all thumbs and left feet. Who could have foreseen that she would have such astounding physical talent? He shook his head in wonder.

But why involve _him_ in it? There couldn't be another teacher at Hogwarts (with the exception of Professor Binns, who was dead,) who was less qualified to act as Advisor to this. It was unimaginable to think of himself shepherding a bunch of scandalously half-naked witches about Muggle Britain to participate with who knew how many similarly attired Muggle girls in a silly, useless tribal dance. It made no sense at all!

Dumbledore had said that he was punishing him. But why should he suddenly do this now? Why visit Snape with such a grievous punishment when he had never done so before? So Severus had acted unpleasantly. He ALWAYS acted unpleasantly! He hadn't behaved any differently than he had ever done before, and he could think of many things he had done, or said, in the past that had been far, far worse! Why did his headmaster suddenly feel the need to make an example of him? Unless there was some other motive, or he was simply desperate...

Snape kicked a rubbish basket across his office floor in an explosive fit of pique. WHY HIM? Surely little Flitwick would be better suited for this miserable job! _Cheer_-leading would be right up his alley. But perhaps the Charms master had begged off by citing the time he spent supervising his two apprentices and his Charms Club. Minerva McGonagall would be too busy too, he supposed. She was Deputy Headmistress, after all.

But what about Vecter? And Sinistra? And Sprout? True, they all headed extracurricular organizations, but surely those silly little clubs couldn't take up that much of their time! Lupin should really be doing this, but of course he had an ironclad (or was it _silver-clad _) excuse to get out of it-- not to mention that he headed that pitiful Dueling club!

Now that he thought of it, he was the only teacher that didn't head up a club and didn't have an apprentice. Well, that was just great! Here he was, the perfect sitting duck when Dumbledore needed a nursemaid for Granger's stupid project. Why, why, _why_, hadn't he had the foresight to start a Potion's Club or something? Except that even that wouldn't have worked. No one would have joined it.

So now he was stuck in an intolerable position. His gut writhed at the thought of what his fellow instructors would think of him. Snape went out of his way to make it appear as though he couldn't care less what anyone though of him, but of course he did care. It bothered him deeply that his colleagues would associate him not only with a Muggle sport, but with a _female _Muggle sport. What could be more embarrassing than that? He would simply have to go to great lengths to impress upon everyone that he was only doing this out of a solemn sense of academic duty. But if he could have kept it all a secret, he would have.

It was in this disturbed frame of mind that Snape brooded in his dungeon sanctuary. He was no less disturbed because Miss Granger was due in his office later in the day, and the thought of the young Griffindor woman unsettled him more than anything else. It unsettled him because he had found her attractive. He had found the sight of her flushed, healthy face and athletic body unaccountably appealing-- and that just shouldn't be! He wasn't supposed to notice things like that and he had never done so before.

Students were students. Severus had never, _ever_, seen them in a sexual light, and he didn't want to start doing so now. That way led straight to danger. If Dumbledore hadn't forced him to witness Miss Granger's supple form arching into the air with such lithesome, long legged grace, or stand so close to her half-clad presence, the control of his mind would be still safe and secure. Now he knew he would never be able to look at that girl without the memory of the shape of her body and the bright flush of her cheeks.

Confound that meddling, conniving old headmaster! And confound Miss Granger too! He'd get her in and out of his office as fast as he could. He'd make sure she would never suspect that he had harbored even as much as a second's worth of favor for her. And he'd give this stupid Muggle venture the least amount of his time that he could. No one could expect any more of him.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione headed toward the changing room still slightly shaken by her team's sudden, inexplicable change of fortune. She didn't look forward to having to inform the other girls of the identity of their new Faculty Advisor. She still couldn't believe it herself. Professor Snape? Why in the world did Professor Dumbledore choose him? And he obviously didn't want the position! His face had the sour, twisted expression of somebody who had been made to swallow some very nasty medicine. The headmaster had said that Snape had graciously accepted the job of advising them, but there had been nothing gracious whatsoever in the way the Potions master had looked at them-- and at her.

Of course, Professor Snape always acted sour and nasty, but he had seemed particularly peeved, and even shocked, after witnessing the team's performance. He had the outraged look of a man backed into a corner-- a painful, torturous corner. Professor Dumbledore must have found a way to force him into accepting the job. Perhaps he hadn't given him a choice at all! Now that Hermione considered it, the only way she could imagine Snape "graciously" agreeing to head up her team was if he had been ordered to do so.

But why would the Headmaster do that? Hermione had thought that he had approved of her endeavor. He had seemed very enthusiastic and even delighted at the prospect of magical Hogwarts having a Muggle-style cheerleading team. Why would he sabotage that team at this late a date by foisting Professor Snape on it? Surely he had to know that would be a disaster! Was he trying to get rid of it after all?

Hermione couldn't really believe that. The encouraging look on Professor Dumbledore's face just had to be genuine, and she knew that the old man was neither stupid, nor dotty, no matter what people liked to say about him. There had to be a good reason why the dour Potions master was assigned to her team. There had to be some benefit that would come out of it... or at least she hoped there was.

She strode boldly into the changing room, projecting a bright, resolute manner that she was far from actually feeling, and bravely faced the rest of her team. The only way to get through this, and get her team through it, was to put on the most positive face that she could. As she entered the room, she was immediately pounced on by the other girls.

"What did Dumbledore think?"

"Did he like it?"

"Why was Snape there?"

"Did you see the look on his face?"

Hermione let them shout out questions for a few seconds before attempting to calm them down... and then bring them up.

"Listen, everyone. We were GREAT! We did everything right! Professor Dumbledore was really impressed!"

There was a flurry of squeals, high-fiveing, and jumping up and down.

"Why was Snape there?" Alicia Podmore asked apprehensively. Hermione could understand her nervousness. As a Slytherin, she didn't want to offend her head of house, and Severus Snape had certainly looked offended!

"Well," Hermione began as brightly as she could, "Madam Hooch has had to step down as our Faculty Advisor, and Professor Dumbledore has asked Professor Snape to do it instead."

The room erupted into loud, instant chaos.

"Snape?"

"Snape's our Advisor?"

"Oh, we're doomed!"

"Dumbledore can't do this to us!"

"He'll ruin everything!"

"We can't perform around him!"

Hermione took the opportunity to step in at that remark.

"What do you mean we can't perform in front of him? We just did! We did our best performance ever! So what if Professor Snape's our Advisor? We NEED an Advisor. It really doesn't matter _who _it is, as long as we have one. And we need one that can learn the rules of the Competition in a short time, and Dumbledore said that Professor Snape is the quickest study that he knows."

The other girls just looked at her in dumbfounded disbelief for a few minutes.

"But did you see the way he _looked _at us?" protested Pamela Crowell.

"Yeah! He stared at us as if we were indecent!"

"Like he wanted to cover us up with a blanket or something..."

"Or bury us," put in Erica Brocklehurst, another Slytherin.

"I did notice that," sighed Hermione. "It's a shame he's such an _old fashioned _wizard. He did looked shocked, the old prude. I felt a little sorry for him." That was a bold-faced lie, of course. She had felt far sorrier for herself.

"What's a prude?" asked Parvati Patil.

"It's a Muggle word for someone who's uptight about sex."

Laughter in all its various forms flickered throughout the group.

"Don't say the words, 'Snape' and 'sex' together!"

"Ugh! I can't imagine Snape having sex!"

"I don't think he's capable of it!"

"I certainly hope he's not!"

"STOP IT! That's disrespectful!" Hermione said sharply, and the other girls immediately quieted down. "Besides, according to every expert I've ever read, most prudes are only worried about the _appearance _of sexuality and are quite, um... normal in the privacy of their own rooms."

"Ew! I don't want to picture Snape in the privacy of his room!"

"Then DON'T! I know he's nasty, and I know you don't like him, but he IS a Hogwarts teacher. He deserves our respect. And it's going to be harder for us to work with him if we start thinking lewd and disgusting things about him!"

A few girls blushed. Others smiled ruefully.

"And anyway, this isn't about Professor Snape. It's about US... _OUR TEAM! _We're a really great team, and we've worked hard to get where we are. We've put together a wonderful routine and we deserve to get to Competition. But the only way for us to be able to go to Competition is to have a Faculty Advisor go with us and sit in the Judges box. So what if it's Professor Snape?"

The other girls regarded her in silent doubt.

"Professor Snape can't hurt us! And since he obviously doesn't really want to do this, he'll probably never even bother us. He'll just leave us alone most of the time, and then he'll escort us to the competitions. He'll also keep us safe. Maybe Professor Dumbledore was worried that we'd be bothered by rogue wizards, or that other students would make trouble for us when we compete. Think about it. Who's going to bother us with Professor Snape around?"

A few girls nodded thoughtfully at this unexpected line of reasoning.

"But what if he tries to get us disbanded? What if he complains to our parents and tells them that what we're doing is disgracing to the Wizarding World, or something?" Alicia Podmore looked really worried.

"I don't think he'll do that," Hermione considered. "If he stirred up our parents against it, and then Professor Dumbledore overrode him anyway, it would make him look foolish. I honestly think he'll just try to stay as far away from us as he can."

She looked squarely into her teammates' eyes and put as much positive energy as she could into her words.

"Look, we can do this! We've worked hard, and we're GOOD! Professor Snape will probably stay out of our way, and we can go right on doing what we were going to do anyway-- which is show our routine at the Muggle Competition. All he's really going to be is our escort and bodyguard. If he even bothers to do anything in the Judge's Box, I doubt he'd deliberately fail us-- and even if he did, he's just one judge. We'd still be able to rock the competition. Let's just ignore him!"

Her words were beginning to have the desired effect. The faces around her started to look less doubtful. Hope was beginning to dawn in the minds of her team.

"Come on team. Are we going to let _Snape_ bring us down? NO! We're going to do this in spite of him! We're going to be our best. I Know it! WE CAN! We're the FLYERS!"

Assurance began to flow through the group of cheerleaders. A few attempts at bright, confident smiles were flashed at her. Defiant looks, fighting looks, shone from their eyes. It appeared she had been successful. Professor Snape's first intimidating salvo had fallen short of the mark. It was Hermione:1, Snape:0. Or, at least that was the score for now... She still had to face what she was sure would be a nasty interview later that day.

"But he scares me when I have to talk to him!" Feona Larivee, the youngest girl, a Hufflepuff, looked appealingly at her.

"Well, you don't have to talk to him. I do. As Captain, I'm the one who has to meet with him to go over all the rules and things, and give him the books and score sheets. Don't worry. I'm not afraid of Professor Snape!" She hoped she sounded braver than she felt.

"I pity you," said Padma Patil, and a dozen or so heads nodded in fervent agreement. Hermione secretly agreed with them.


	4. The Irresistable Force and the Immovable

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 4: _The Irresistible Force, and the Immovable Object_**

Severus waited apprehensively in the dubious sanctum of his office. The Griffindor Know-it-all was due to inflict herself on him at any moment. It wouldn't do to appear anything other than regally cold, perhaps disdainfully forbidding. The little chit might get the idea that she was actually important, or that she could barge in on him more than once-- perhaps often. She might even be encouraged to believe that her enterprise counted for more than the joke than it was, or that he was going to put anything other than the barest of efforts toward it.

The fact that Dumbledore had described him as having "graciously" accepted the position of Advisor made him appear far too eager. Thankfully, the old man hadn't told the girl he had volunteered. _At least Snape hoped he hadn't told her that_. Right now, he was so flustered by the entire miserable situation, he was having difficulty remembering what exactly _had_ been said! What cruel, evil, vindictive impulse had led old Albus to do this to him? He had honestly thought the Headmaster had considered him a friend.

At this point, Severus actually wished he hadn't been quite so picturesque in some of the things he had said to people recently. Perhaps he should have restrained himself, chewed his tongue, and held his peace with those stupid parents. The problem was, he truly enjoyed treating those of inferior quality _exactly _as they deserved. It was one of the few pleasures he had in life. He took immense satisfaction in leveling the pretentious and puncturing the pompous-- all with the artful use of sarcasm. And now it was coming back to bite him in the butt! Oh, confound it all!

There was a knock at the door. Miss Granger, prompt as always, had managed to get there only minutes after dinner. She was as predictable as death and taxes.

"Enter!" he growled, and he steeled himself resignedly to getting through this meeting.

She marched in confidently with a motley stack of books and papers, and what looked like a small valise. Snape noted, with satisfaction, that she was dressed decently. It would have been far more difficult to keep to his regular demeanor had she strode with bare legs. Her somber wizard's robes gave the situation a disarming sense of normality.

It was hard at the moment to remember that the student before him-- the pale, rather plain girl with the tumble of wild, bushy curls, was the same creature that had looped expertly through the air, and had landed so beautifully flushed barely a foot away from him. That was good. He didn't want to remember it. He sent her an imperious glare.

His glare seemed to bounce off her. There was an unaccountable note of buoyancy under her expression of polite deference, a spark of unquenchable fire.

"These are the materials I gave Madam Hooch, sir. I have The Cheerleader's Handbook, some sample score sheets, a list of the Competition rules and regulations, and some interactive videos."

Snape pointed wordlessly to a spot on the corner of his desk and continued to glower at her in a manner guaranteed to intimidate, except that she wasn't intimidated. She merely looked at him in bright, careful respect, perhaps waiting for him to ask her questions. Well he _wasn't_ going to ask her questions. This interview was going to end quickly, and she was going to leave. He frowned as darkly as he could. Severus didn't like it when students failed to flinch in his presence. It wasn't natural. It went against the normal order of things and upset the balance of power. He made a dismissive motion with his hand, but she didn't move.

"Well?" he spat. "Are you intending to stand over me while I read your stupid papers, or are you going to leave me in peace?"

The girl still didn't move.

"Do you know how to run my computer, sir?"

"How to _what_? What... computer?" He spoke the word as though it was the name of a loathsome insect, or a foul disease-- which to him it was. No one had told him this punishment involved a computer!

"I have some interactive videos saved on my laptop. They show all the jumps and stunts, and give a moving sketch, sort of an animated diagram, of our routine. Madam Hooch didn't know how to use it, so I showed her. I can show you as well."

She picked up the object he had mistook for a valise, flicked some sort of catch, and it opened like a book to reveal a black screen on one side and a keyboard on the other. At the flick of another switch, the screen lit up.

Of course, Miss Granger was right. Severus had no idea how to use a computer, had never seen one at close quarters, and had never wanted to. He regarded this one with extreme suspicion. Like most wizards, Snape felt uneasy around Muggle devices. He saw them, irrationally, as some sort of alien sorcery. Since Muggle machines worked on principles that had nothing to do with magic, wizards prided themselves on their lack of need for them. Even to touch one seemed rather profane to Snape, as though it was somehow unclean...

But of course it wasn't. It was just a silly Muggle device. The problem was that it was one he didn't know how to use, which would mean he would have to _learn_ to use it. He would have to let a STUDENT teach him-- and this particular student, no less. Oh, how she would glory in that! Dumbledore was definitely going to pay for this, pay for it in spades...

"These little boxes are called 'windows,' sir, and the little arrow is called a 'cursor'"

_Curse her? Sweet Merlin, don't tempt me..._

"And this little ball is called a 'mouse.'"

_Obviously Muggle are barking mad. That ball looks nothing like a mouse!_

"You just roll the mouse to get the cursor to the window that you want, and click on it. That means you push this little button here..."

Snape just couldn't believe it. He was sitting in his own office taking _computer_ lessons from the most irritating student ever to cross his path! How demoralizing! And weren't computers responsible for all the trouble in the Muggle world? Perhaps he would wake up and this would only have proved to be a bad dream. _Cheerleading! _This had to be a nightmare...

"Now you just follow the trail of windows to get to the information you want. They're like folders, but they don't make a mess all over your desk."

_I'm sure she thinks she's being amusing. Insufferable_ _little know-it-all!_

"Click twice and the windows appear. Click on the little 'x' on the corner, and the window disappears." Her voice flowed with bright, cheerful patience, like the sound of a nursery school teacher. Snape ground his teeth. SOMEONE was going to pay for this!

Windows flashed on and off the screen.

"See, it's easy, sir! Let's click on this one here-- the one that says, '_Cheers for Britain.'_"

Snape slapped her hand irritably off the "mouse," and elbowed her out of the way.

"That's enough, Miss Granger, I can do it!" he hissed with acid venom, "This is, as you have said, _obviously _easy."

He clicked twice on "_Cheers for Britain_," and a window appeared showing a young girl in mid jump with her legs spread out in a split, her hands touching her toes. He immediately clicked on the "x" to make it disappear.

"There, Professor! You _do _have the hang of it!"

"Of course, you silly girl! Any _competent_ wizard can master these Muggle machines in a matter of seconds! The theory behind them all is elementary."

The sneer he sent her was poisonous. It was a point of extreme annoyance that she didn't break her stride at all.

"All you have to do to shut it down, sir, is click on the 'start' menu and go to 'shut down.' And all you have to do to start it up again is to hit this button right here..."

She leaned in close to him, and pointed at a button ( obviously marked "start,") on the top right corner of the keyboard. He glared in her face so menacingly that she actually flinched a little as she backed away.

_Well, well, well. Now that was satisfying. And about time, too!_

"I'm sorry, Professor. I do get a little carried away, sometimes."

"So I've noticed... for the past eight years!"

She colored and seemed to droop a bit, which he found extremely gratifying, but nevertheless, she still, stubbornly, held her ground before him-- a Griffindor to the last. He suddenly couldn't contain himself.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what is the purpose of this so-called 'sport'? Why is it even considered a sport at all? To my mind, it looks as though all you do is shout encouragement to other teams practicing _real _sports! Is there an actual _goal _to cheerleading?"

Miss Granger considered for a moment, and then she smiled.

"I think the ultimate goal is the same as it is for any other sport, to have fun."

He answered with a derisive "Humph!" and rolled his eyes. "How typically Muggle!"

"And you're right," she continued. "Cheerleading started out as an auxiliary sort of thing-- to boost morale at ball games. But it's become a separate sport on its' own. Many teams don't even cheer at games anymore. They just compete against each other."

"Compete _how_?" The level of skepticism in Snape's voice couldn't have been higher.

"They go to Cheerleading Competitions. Teams perform in front of each other to see who is the best. They show off their skills at tumbling, jumping and stunting, and they get judged for how perfect they are and how difficult their routine is. And there's all sorts of rules and regulations they have to follow. I brought you some sample score sheets like the ones you'll use when you're in the Judges' Box. There are spaces on them to give or deduct points for each team's performance."

A cold spot materialized in the pit of Snape's gut, and he was suddenly conscious of a distinct sense of impending panic. Did she say Judge's Box? _HE would be sitting in the Judge's Box? _Dumbledore hadn't told him that! The flash of outrage that flooded through him was positively sickening. Incredible! His situation had just plunged from dismal to disaster. It was bad enough that he had been roped into going to these stupid events, but now he was going to have to mingle with Muggles cheek-to jowl when he did so! Murderous thoughts danced the Tango in his mind as he strove to keep his expression rock hard and unreadable.

"I see," he said, in a voice grown ominously quiet. "And this 'Competition' is _when_?"

"The first one is in two weeks."

_First one? As in one of many?_

Snape considered for a moment which poison, of the many he knew, that would work best in the Headmaster's coffee. But that wouldn't help him at all. If Albus died, he'd be stuck with Minerva, and that insufferable witch would never let him out of this. And she'd probable insist on coming along to supervise his humiliation...

Miss Granger was still standing expectantly in front of his desk. His precariously slim margin of control was slowly beginning to slip.

"Very well, Miss Granger," he hissed through icy teeth. "I am acting as Advisor to your ridiculous little team, and I will accompany you to your competitive meets, where I will, unfortunately, act as judge. But understand that I find this the _stupidest, _most POINTLESS exercise I have ever been asked to do in my entire life! As far as I am concerned, what you and your little friends are doing bears as much relation to a sport as cat-tossing does, and I'd enjoy supervising _that _a great deal more! I am only your Advisor because the Headmaster appealed to me as a personal favor. Of course, had I known exactly what my duties were to be for this favor, I would most probably have thought twice!"

_And if anyone learns I am doing this as a punishment, that person will die..._

"That is all, Miss Granger. You may leave now."

She nodded a little stiffly. Severus noticed that some of her brightness and enthusiasm had seemed to have faded. Well, Miss Granger had always been sensitive to criticism.

_Chalk up another victory for nasty, snarky Professor Snape-- master of crushed hopes, and dark lord of harsh discipline! Let all who cross me beware!_

But he was surprised to feel a tiny twinge of regret as he watched her exit his office. She had looked much more attractive with a bright smile and flushed cheeks... Severus angrily brushed that thought away. Miss Granger could look as attractive as she pleased as long as she stayed far away from him!

Snape rubbed his forehead irritably, as he had developed a pounding headache. He rose with a slight groan and proceeded to his lab to brew a fresh batch of Headache Potion. He had a feeling he would be needing a lot of it.

_HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH_

Hermione let out a long sigh as she stepped away from Professor Snape's mercifully closed office door. That hadn't gone exactly well, had it? Of all the teachers to have to be working with, the Potions master had to be the most difficult, most infuriating, most intimidating man on the face of the earth! She had done her best not to let him intimidate _her_, but in the end she had still felt like a shivering, cowering first-year who had broken some stupid rule. But at least she hadn't let him see it!

And it really could have been far, far worse. He hadn't cursed her, given her detention, or turned her into a bouncing ferret wearing a cheerleading uniform. He hadn't even deducted any house points. Of course she hadn't done anything to deserve that, but Professor Snape was famous for finding creative reasons for deducting points. He could have easily fined Griffindor any number of points for something like a loose thread on her robe, or a drop of perspiration on his office floor! She supposed she should consider herself lucky.

Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to have rushed into teaching him the computer. Hermione winced a little as she remembered how patronizing her voice must have sounded to him. She had probably wounded his pride. Stiff and proper Professor Snape was undoubtedly touchy where his pride was concerned, and she should have remembered that. Hermione shook her head sadly. She really hadn't meant to insult him.

Professor Snape had never treated her very well. He bullied everyone who wasn't from Slytherin, but still Hermione had always had great respect for him. She respected his strength, his intelligence, and his incredible mastery of the magical disciplines. She also respected his command of the English language. As long as his smooth, biting sarcasm wasn't pointed at her, his witty quips could be amazingly funny.It always surprised her that no one else she knew seemed to see that. They only saw him as nasty. He _was_ nasty. But Hermione sensed that wasn't all he was.

She should have proceeded more respectfully with the computer, offered him the book, Winning with Windows or something like that. But she didn't have the book here at school with her, and she hadn't used a book when she had taught Madam Hooch. That had been a good thing because no book written could have helped the Flying instructor master computing. Poor Madam Hooch had been woefully slow to pick up anything Hermione had taught her. She had almost seemed afraid to touch the laptop in the beginning, as if it was a bomb liable to explode at random. It had taken weeks of lessons to get her to a passable level of proficiency.

Now all those weeks were wasted. Hermione had lavished so much of her time teaching the Flying teacher not only computing, but all the ins and outs of cheerleading, as well. She had conferred with her over everything, popping into her office nearly every other day, hovering over her work with the laptop and relating to her all the facts about the sport that she could. But perhaps that had been excessive. Hermione suddenly had a sobering thought.

Perhaps the reason Madam Hooch had stepped down as Advisor wasn't because of the Quiddich schedule. Perhaps she was just tired of Hermione. Maybe Hermione had made a pest of herself! She had a habit of being bossy, and the boys had been telling her that for years. She also had a habit of jumping in and telling people what to do for their own good, or trying to manage people's lives and schedules to help them be more efficient. Harry and Ron had _never_ appreciated the study schedules and homework notebooks she had given them. And she had only been trying to help them!

Was it now all _her_ fault that the Hogwarts Cheerleading Team suddenly had Severus Snape for its Faculty Advisor? Was this Professor Dumbledore's subtle way of telling her that her behavior had been over the top? She didn't like to think that Professor Dumbledore would do that to her and her team, but she had to admit that it was the sort of subtle lesson the wise old headmaster might favor. Her mother had once compared her to an irresistible force, but Professor Snape was definitely an immovable object-- the last person in the world she could manipulate or boss. Perhaps this _was_ a punishment.

Or, she might be blowing the whole thing out of proportion... Madam Hooch really _could_ have found it too hard to referee Quiddich and work with her team. Maybe there was no one else but Professor Snape who had the spare time. Or maybe Dumbledore had ordered him to take up the job because no other teacher wanted it. Wondering about it, and beating herself up over it, would only waste more time. The thing to do now was to make the best of the situation, no matter how bad it was.

And the situation wasn't totally bad. Snape had all but thrown it in her face that he was planning to have as little to do with them as possible. Wasn't that just what they wanted? Hermione smiled. Hadn't she told her team that was what he would do? They could certainly deal with that! All they needed to do was keep practicing, do their best, and let their dreaded Advisor stay out of their way.

She would stay out of his way too. Snape obviously felt uncomfortable with their team. He didn't approve of their sport-- or even the type of uniforms the girls wore! Hermione also had a feeling that he hadn't even known he was to sit with the Muggle judges until she had told him. Looking at it from his point of view, this whole situation was possibly harder for him than it was for the team. It wouldn't do to treat him the way she had done Madam Hooch. She wouldn't pester him or ask him questions-- not even to see how he was doing with the computer. Reviewing those video diagrams wasn't absolutely necessary. Besides, maybe he would find it easy. He was, after all, a very intelligent man...

_Author's Note: I realize that in the greater Cheerleading world, both in Britain and the United States, there are independent judges at the tournaments. The many rules may also be different from what I describe. But remember, not only is this fanfiction, it is FICTION... complete fantasy!_ _Writers often manipulate reality to make stories more interesting. I though it would be amusing to have each school contribute a judge-- sort of like in Olympic Skating_ _where the judges come from every country represented ( or almost every country... I am not an expert on the Olympics either!)_ _I wanted a vehicle to shove our Severus into the thick of things and force the poor man to get involved, whether he wanted to or not_. _If I am going to torture him, I'm going to do it thoroughly!_


	5. Purgatory for a Potion's Master

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 5: _Purgatory for a Potion's Master_**

_Blast it!_

_Flame it!_

_Smash it into a thousand pieces!_

_CURSE AND DESTROY THIS **INFERNAL COMPUTER!**_

She said click to make the window appear. He DID that. So, where was the window? Naturally, these Muggle things never worked the way they were supposed to! Snape growled and pushed the button again, and again, in savage frustration.

CLICK!

CLICK!

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK!

Oh-oh.Blast it! Now there were too many windows. He only wanted one! _Stupid, idiotic, WORTHLESS, machine..._

He painstakingly clicked on the "x" in the corner of each and every window, only to realize, too late, that he shouldn't have done _every _window. _Blast and double blast!_ Now there were no windows left on the screen.He was back to where he had started!

Snape rubbed his forehead and prayed for patience, but then suddenly considered the danger of that. Prayers for patience, or strength, seemed to always be answered by the occurrence of more and more difficulties. That was how true patience was learned, after all. But Snape didn't _need _any more difficulties! He was strong enough already! He could do this... He _would _do this... He would do it if it took him all night...

After having quickly scanned over The Cheerleader's Handbook, and the long list of Competition rules and regulations, he was astounded by what a wild and wacky sport cheerleading was. And he had thought the rules for Quiddich were convoluted and crazy! At least in Quiddich there was room for creative interpretation. Snape knew, from firsthand experience, the amazing number of ways a referee could look the other way in regards to penalties and fouls. Nearly anything was permissible in Quiddich if given just the right circumstances. But many of these cheerleading regs were incredibly tight.

Take the rules on appearance, for instance. All cheerleading uniforms had to match immaculately. Points could be deducted for lack of neatness in dress-- for spots or stains on uniforms, for tags showing or skirts that didn't stay down, for stockings that didn't match or were not folded over correctly, or for untied or incorrectly tied trainers.

Points could be deducted for hair as well. The girls' hair had to be swept up from the face into a tight bun (he remembered how odd Miss Granger had looked with that wild bush bound up in this way.) Hair extenders or wigs were often worn on top of this, and these had to be of uniform design, and had to be secured very tightly. Points could be taken for scraggly hair, bangs that obscured vision, or wigs that flew off the head in the middle of stunting. _Oh, that should be a sight! _And all this was outside the actual practice of the sport.

Here the rigidity was staggering. A cheerleading routine had to last exactly two and a half minutes, with at least forty-five seconds devoted to chanting, thirty more reserved for dance, and the remainder left for tumbling and stunting. There were some elements that could blend into each other, or be split, but others could not. There was a regulation size to a cheerleading mat and specifically measured areas that would constitute "out of bounds." Teams had prearranged music that would be used during their routine, and there was a minimum duration for that music. Some routines could use more, but never less.

The scope of this was completely inexplicable to someone who had been steeped in Quiddich. In Quiddich, it made no difference ( to a Slytherin) how goals were scored, as long as they were. It didn't matter how the Seeker caught the snitch, as long as he caught it. Players veered all over the place, often looping through the stands. There was no vertical "out of bounds," and no horizontal limits either. The only thing that kept the game in the general area of the pitch was the tendency of the snitch to stay somewhere in close vicinity, but that wasn't always the case. Even the length of the game was fluid. Teams played until the snitch was caught, and if that took days, then so did the game. Why would anyone want to participate in a sport that had so many restrictive rules?

Cheerleading seemed far too much like an art instead of a sport-- an art where technique was judged more than the result. Technique was everything in cheerleading. Not only did it matter what moves and jumps were used, as some carried more possible points than others, but it mattered how carefully and perfectly these moves were executed. It also mattered how fluid and how aesthetically pleasing the moves and jumps looked when placed together in a particular routine. Only females could come up with something as irritating as this!

There were a dizzying number of moves and stunts, each with a point rating, and each with a name-- things that he would have to have memorized in a mere two weeks! The obscene looking jump that involved legs splayed out on both sides and hands stretched out to meet them was called a "Toe Touch." The stunt that lifted a cheerleader (one called a flyer) up into the air to stand, held up by one foot with one leg curled back to touch her head, was called a "Scorpion." Snape couldn't even imagine the sort of steel nerve balance it would take to actually be able to do that, let alone do it in front of a crowd of people, and in a uniform that left so little to the imagination. Cheerleading surely was a daring activity.

On top of these stunts, there were tumbling moves with names and ratings too, but it was flamingly difficult to get an accurate idea of their exact executions from the descriptions in a book. Which, of course, was why he needed this computer... There were supposedly Muggle moving pictures locked up within it that illustrated these things. If only he could get the blasted thing to work!

CLICK!

CLICK!

CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK!

_Curses!_ Too many windows again! Snape wished he could whip out his wand and melt the thing into a pile of twisted, smoking plastic, but that would not make his situation better. He would then have to replace it for Miss Granger, and she would know he had failed to master it. That would be beyond embarrassing-- especially since he had told her, in such scathing terms, that he would find it easy. He HAD to do this!

CLICK!

CLICK!

Wait a moment...

CLICKCLICK!

_Ah-ha! This was more like it. _

DOUBLE click to get a window! He must have forgotten. He certainly would never forget it again. Snape double clicked carefully on "_Cheers for Britain_," and set his teeth, and his nerves, to succeed.

Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

"Are you well, Severus? You look tired."

Conversation at the Head Table usually flowed around Snape like water around a stubborn rock in midstream. But, at Minerva's comment, the other teachers turned their attention to him. That was something he certainly didn't welcome. Snape silently ground his teeth.

"Tired? Only of incompetence, laziness, and lunacy. And if you haven't noticed," he gestured darkly at the sea of students in the hall, "we are surrounded by it."

_You'd look tired too after battling Muggle dark forces into the wee hours of the morning..._

"I wondered if perhaps the extra duties you have taken on are too taxing for you." Her voice virtually purred with patent sympathy. Snape wasn't fooled.

_If you really cared, you'd volunteer._

He assumed a slight air of martyrdom. "Don't concern yourself on my part, Minerva. I will always do my duty to this school, no matter what that duty is."

"But I must say, Severus, that I am surprised you would agree to take on this job. It doesn't seem like you at all."

Honestly! She was like a dog determined to worry a bone, or a cat relentlessly playing with a mouse... _Oh, shut up, woman!_

"Since Albus asked me as a personal favor, I felt it only reasonable to accommodate him-- especially as he needed help on such _short _notice." Snape looked pointedly at Madam Hooch who was sitting a few places down from him. "I have never refused the Headmaster... anything."

Had the old man been present at the Head Table that morning, Severus might have been more guarded in his speech, but since Dumbledore _wasn't _there, Snape could say whatever he liked. He had no intention of letting anyone know that he had been ordered into the position. NO ONE was going to know that this was a punishment!

"What is it you're doing for Albus?" asked Sinistra innocently.

"Conducting a diplomatic exercise between this school and the Outside World."

_Oh, that sounded very good, didn't it?_

"Is it tha' weird Muggle thing the Ministry's bin cookn' up?" Hagrid's speech was garbled by a Herculean mouthful of masticated food. It wasn't a pretty sight.

Severus somehow refrained from rolling his eyes, kept his expression loftily calm, and assumed an attitude of severe, condescending patience.

"It is an exercise in Wizard/Muggle cooperation and, yes, the Ministry feels it will lead to better future dealings with the greater Muggle Community. The Headmaster desires that we comply with the Ministry's directive as soon as we can." Snape looked down his overlarge nose at Hagrid and tried to look noble. He almost succeeded.

"Oh, I know what you're doing!" put in Vecter suddenly. "You've taken over the Advisory position for that new Muggle-type sports team! What is it, Cheeriness- Leaping, or something?"

_At least get the name right, you silly ignoramus..._

Snape flashed Vector a withering glance, the sort one would give to a gauche party-crasher who had just made a faux pas, but said nothing.

"It's called Cheerleading," put in Lupin helpfully. "I've heard of it. It involves pretty girls, pom poms, and a lot of acrobatics. They yell chants at Muggle ball games."

_I'm going to kill this werewolf. _

"Pretty, cheerful girls doing acrobatics? That sounds like fun!" squeaked Flitwick.

_Then you can do it. Be my guest._

The Charms professor unexpectedly gave him a wink and a nudge, and said in a sly voice loud enough for the rest of them all to hear, "I guess there's no need to ask why _you_ agreed to take the job, eh Severus?"

The other teachers, McGonagall included, smirked at him. Snape's face clouded in incredulous outrage.

"These are STUDENTS, Filius! CHILDREN!"

_How dare they look at me like that! What can they be thinking?_

"Of course they are. But most of them are very pretty, and some of them are well over seventeen-- of age! Young women of considerable grace and charm, if I do say so myself!"

_Wonderful! Who knew old Flitwick was a lech? No wonder Dumbledore wanted me for the job. He knows I can keep a steady head..._

"There is nothing charming about simpering, vapid females who communicate by giggling."

Snape stalwartly refused to think about Hermione Granger's bright glowing face and graceful body, and the fact that she, of all people, could never be described as vapid and had never once giggled in his presence. Thinking about Miss Granger would bring on a headache.

"Oh, nonsense, Severus," continued the diminutive Charms master in his piping little voice. "Your problem is that you always look on the dark side of everything. Stop being such a misogynist! Anyone else would envy you getting to travel around Britain with a bevy of such pretty, young girls!"

No one noticed his hands balled into fists beneath the table, as Snape's expression had returned to his normal detached disdain. But inwardly, he was seething. Misogynist indeed! He didn't hate women. He enjoyed them actually, but he didn't bring his sex life to work with him. It was best to keep business and pleasure as far apart as possible. And he NEVER ogled students. Teachers that did that often committed indiscretions, and Hogwarts had enough of that in its history without him adding to it. Of course if silly, little Flitwick made eyes at a student it would only look cute...

_You pusillanimous_ _little pip-squeak_!

"Well I don't think he's to be envied. I had the job before he did, and it was a complete pain in the arse!"

Madam Hooch had spoken up in an aggrieved voice. Snape eyed her coldly. True, she was technically on his side in this discussion, but it was also due to her abandoning her responsibilities at the last minute that he had been thrust into this fire. Nothing she could say now would change that.

"Anyone who takes on that team has to deal with the Granger girl, and she's _insufferable!_ It's a good thing our Quiddich matches turned out to be on the same days as the Muggle Competitions. I don't think I could have stood anymore! She was in my office every other day, pestering me about this or about that. She drove me nearly crazy!"

Snape answered with a lofty sneer. "That is simply because _you_ don't know how to handle students! All it takes is firmness and discipline. Miss Granger hasn't given ME any trouble. She knows better!"

The resentful look Hooch sent his way was pure poison, but Snape didn't care. He owed her far more than a simple verbal swat.

_How coincidental that the Quiddich games conflicted with the Muggle Tournaments! I wonder how that happened..._

"And what about having to use that awful Muggle machine-- that computer?" she spat.

Severus tossed his head and waved an arrogant hand in dismissal. "Oh, _that. _The thing isn't hard to work if you apply yourself! Any intelligent wizard can master it."

_It probably took you WEEKS to master the double-click!_

"Of course the key word here is intelligent," he added maliciously.

Snape then rose from the table and turned his back on the sputtering Madam Hooch. He was out of the Great Hall and half way across the courtyard before he realized he had been followed. Any shred of patience he had once possessed had fled to the far corners of the earth. Would no one leave him alone?

"**Now what**?" he thundered at the pursuing wizard, who happened to be Remus Lupin. "What is so important that it can't wait, or what desperate need do you have that you feel you must bother ME with?"

"Nothing, Severus," Lupin answered mildly. "I merely wished to offer you _my_ services, if you want them. I realize my... affliction... would make it difficult for me to do all that is required in regards to the team, but I want you to know that any help you might need, I would be glad to give you."

Snape considered Remus for a second in scowling irritation. Offering his help? What was the angle? Did the werewolf have possible designs on the girls, or was this simply a way for him to show Snape up? Lupin was waiting for a reply with almost humble geniality. Severus suddenly found that mildness incredibly infuriating because it reminded him, strangely, of Dumbledore. He had a sickening picture of Remus as a possible future Headmaster, and himself having to work for him. _A werewolf Headmaster? Oh, no... Never that... _

"How touching, Lupin," he sneered. "I might actually be tempted to take you up on your generous little offer, except that the Muggle Tournament just happens, unfortunately, to coincide with the next full moon. Much as I know your deep desire to be helpful, even _you_ can see that relations between this school and the Muggle world will not be improved if the Hogwarts judge devours the other teams, and the other judges, at the Tournament!"

"Although," he added mercilessly, "if properly dosed with Wolfsbane, you might make an interesting mascot. Perhaps I will think about it."

Remus smiled sadly and shook his head. "True to form as always, Severus. But the offer still stands. Remember it."

Snape turned away and strode angrily to his first class. He had just delivered a nasty cutting thrust to the hated Defense teacher, but still, somehow, Snape wound up feeling that the werewolf had come out of the encounter better than he had. Lupin had maintained his position of helpfullness and had kept his control. It was Snape who, by acting rude and ungrateful, had seemed churlish-- and even childish. He would have done far better to have given Lupin a chillingly polite "thank you" before refusing him.

But what really steamed him was that he had actually gotten what he wanted and had turned it down! He had wished for someone to fob off these unpleasant duties to, and Lupin had volunteered. If Snape had only played his cards properly, he could have left Lupin with the computer, the books, and the ridiculous score sheets. And even if this first Competition was held on the full moon, surely the others wouldn't be. The headmaster wouldn't even be able to fault him if he was working cooperatively with one of his fellow teachers!

A prime Slytherin opportunity had slipped right through his fingers-- all because he had let hatred for that werewolf blind him to it! And it was too late to undo the damage. After all the nasty things he had said, if he went crawling to Lupin now, he would only appear more foolish. Oh blast it all! Why couldn't he have controlled his tongue? A simple two seconds of sarcastic pleasure, and he was stuck worse than ever! Why was life so unfair?

The class of first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws was waiting outside his dungeon classroom. Snape glared at them malevolently and watched them visibly quake. That, at least, was pleasant. He opened the door to the Potions classroom and prepared to do his teacherly worst.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hogwarts' new cheerleading team practiced unmolested in the two weeks leading up to the first tournament. True to his word, Professor Snape had stayed completely away from them. If it hadn't been for the fact that they _knew _he was their Advisor, they could have almost forgotten all about him... until they had Potions class, of course. By the strange osmosis that infects schools, it wasn't long before the entire student body had heard that the Old Bat of the Dungeons was connected to their team. But from the way he acted, no one would have believed he had heard of them.

Hermione itched with curiosity, but she refrained from asking the dour professor how he was doing with her computer. It _was _her computer, and she _could_ have been excused a little natural concern for who was using it, and whether or not they knew what they were doing, but she held her peace. One just didn't barge in on Snape-- unless one wanted a creative detention! And then there was the point of his touchy pride, which if offended would spark his furious anger.

Oddly, Hermione didn't begrudge him that pride. He was an accomplished wizard, a scholar and a master, and he had a right to be proud of that, and proud of the importance and dignity of his job. But few seemed to give him the respect he should have been due. Hermione heard the way students spoke about him behind his back, and though she knew his own nastiness brought a lot of that on, she didn't think it was fair to him.

He had summoned her into his office twice since that first interview-- short meetings that only took place because they were absolutely necessary. There were permission slips and legal forms that had to be owled to parents and collected again. Locations and times of Competition tournaments had to be established. Hermione needed to report on the readiness of the team.

In each interview, it seemed as though he was going out of his way to intimidate and antagonize her. He seemed to be taking out on her all the frustration he felt at being assigned to her team. It wasn't easy to meet his harsh black eyes, to bear up under his withering condescension, or to keep her composure under the force of his personality, but Hermione managed to do it. She had faced far, far worse, after all.

She had seen all the horrors of the war. She had fought death eaters, survived the Cruciatus Curse, and had ended up at St. Mungo's nearly dead from a hex that had twisted most of her muscles and broken most of her bones. After the agony of that, and the long struggle for recovery, Professor Snape's grouchy behavior didn't actually frighten her. But he was still the teacher she had tried for years to please. He was still the master whose high regard she wanted-- and whose regard she knew she would probably never get.

Hermione did her best to be philosophical and not take his nastiness personally. Some people were impossible to please, although that didn't mean she had to give up trying. And if Professor Snape _had _been ordered to her team, she could understand his resentment. He was a private man-- solitary, aloof, and possibly even shy-- a man who stayed behind the scenes, kept his own council, and preferred the quiet of the library or the lab to spotlights and the roar of crowds. He was the last person who could ever have an affinity for the loud, public, "in your face" sport of cheerleading. No wonder his attitude had bordered on the savage.

The best that Hermione could do was ignore his nastiness and bear with him when he was disagreeable, wishing all the while that she had his approval. And the best way to help Snape get through Competition Season was to make it as easy for him as possible. She took care of all the little details, sent the owls, got the uniforms and all their other gear. She confirmed dates, destinations, and arrival times, and arranged with the kitchen staff to have food packed for them. By the night before Competition, her team was as ready as it ever would be. All they had to worry about was nerves... and Snape, of course...

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape sat in his private study, frowning at the bright screen of the laptop, and nursing another headache. Tomorrow was the morning of the first Competition, and he honestly dreaded it. He dreaded facing the unfamiliar and venturing into any situation where he was not fully in control. When he had discovered the need for permission slips, and documents absolving the tournament organizers from liability in case of student injury, he had hoped against hope that at least _one_ of the parents would have had the sense to object. But all of them had signed the blasted things. There was no way out now.

His desk was littered with piles of reading material, in which the hated laptop rested as a pearl would in its shell. Pearls, after all, were irritants. There was a stack of new books he had recently acquired that leaned precariously against the open laptop, for which they had been expressly purchased. There was Winning with Windows, How to Love Your Computer, and four yellow and black volumes on various aspects of computing that were stated as written for dummies.

_Mudungus Fletcher is going to pay for this! Is that dodgy little sod intimating I'm a dummy?_

But perhaps he shouldn't be made to pay _too _severely. Those books had actually been helpful. After ploughing through most of them, Snape was actually able to run the blasted computer with some reasonable success. There did seem to be a certain amount of... logic... to it, and on the occasions when the little beast froze on him, or refused to cooperate in some other fashion, he had found that switching it off in punishment, and then restarting it, worked wonders!

Snape had forced himself to view the series of Muggle moving pictures in the laptop, and he now knew the difference between a "back-handspring" and a "front-handspring". He could now distinguish between a "tuck", a "pike", and a "layout". He also knew the names of the various hand motions and the proper way to execute them. There had even been some cutsy little quizzes with names like, _"Can you name THIS cheerleading stunt?" _In which he had scored ten out of ten. Supposedly, he was ready.

He switched off the laptop and the screen went dark. Snape felt like a condemned man scheduled to snog a dementor at dawn. But surely, he reasoned, he was exaggerating the direness of his situation. This job, though odious, was unlikely to be fatal. He was only taking students into the Muggle World, not to a Dark Revel! All he had to do was keep his composure and endure whatever irritation, or boredom, the ordeal involved.

The words of a famous Slytherin: "That which does not kill me makes me stronger," came to mind. There was nothing for it but to soldier on.


	6. Descent Into Hell

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 6: _Descent into Hell_**

Competition morning dawned drippy and cold. The Hogwarts Cheerleading Team rose early to get ready for their first Muggle adventure, showering, donning their new uniforms, and preparing their hair.

"Can't we fix our_ hair_ with magic?" pleaded Caroline Creevey, whose wiglet was currently being attached. "No one would know!"

"WE would know," replied Hermione judiciously, as she carefully sewed the girl's shiny blonde hairpiece to the tightly bound topknot on her head. She guided the long plastic needle gently through the wad of bound hair, and up through the mesh of the wig, pulled the thread tight, and then poked the needle back through the wig and down through the topknot again. Hermione had fifteen wigs to sew on that morning, and she was only half done. The temptation to cheat did lurk in the back of her mind. It really would be nice to just stick them on by magic, but that wouldn't be right.

"Besides," she went on patiently, "I promised Professor Dumbledore that we wouldn't use any magic and that we would compete exactly the way the Muggles do. That means using Muggle techniques and products on our hair."

A couple of girls groaned and Hermione had to reach for the strength not to snap at them, or jab them with the needle. She had more to complain about than they did. She was the one stuck doing the sewing.

"Ugh! This stuff I have to put on my hair is _disgusting_!" mourned Parvati.

"Yeah. It's like that awful goop we made in Potions class to protect us from skin curses or something." Cynthia Moon dabbed her hair gingerly with styling gel, and made a face.

"Oh don't remind me," said Jerrolyn Sweet, as she rubbed a handful into her coarse black locks. "I don't want to think about _that_ potion! I don't want to remember what was in it!"

Erica Brockelhurst finished wrapping her topknot and smiled wickedly over at her Hufflepuff teammate. "What? Does the memory of Bubotuber Puss and Dragon urine do nasty things to your stomach?"

The other Slytherins giggled.

Jacqueline Ross tossed her head proudly, jiggling the curls of her recently sewn in wig. "You can't let silly little things like smells and textures bother you! _Slytherins_ can take almost anything with strength and good grace. That's why we're so successful! It's a good potion to know. So what if it smells vile?"

"It doesn't smell at all, if you brew it _right_," put in Harriet Ramsbottom in grave Ravenclaw superiority. "It only turns foul if you don't chop the bat livers fine enough, or if you don't pulverize the eel eyes to the right consistency, or if you don't..."

"Oh _shut up!" _hissed Feona Larivee. "We still have to eat. You'll put me off my food!"

The Slytherins, the Ravenclaws, and the Hufflepuffs glared at each other.

"All right, lets get our uniforms on!" ordered Hermione briskly. "I can sew in the last of our wigs while we're having breakfast."

Their beautiful new uniforms were a welcome distraction and all the girls were proud to wear them. The basic design was black, with accents of white, gold, and silver. The Hogwarts shield, with the crests of the four houses, was emblazoned on the front bodice, and pleated black skirts of a modest length sported shiny stripes of silver and gold. Saucy little hair ribbons of silver, gold, and black peeked from under wigs. New white trainers gleamed on each foot. Even the white socks had stripes of black, silver, and gold. Seeing themselves all suited up, neat and matching, made them look the part of a team. The inter-house rivalry was temporarily forgotten.

After breakfast, the girls filed down to the practice room, their uniforms covered with their new black, silver, and gold warm-up suits, and their regulation competition trainers packed in their new black sports bags. Severus Snape was already waiting for them, and their jaws dropped when they saw him.

This Professor Snape looked nothing like a master at a magical school. He was dressed in severe Muggle business attire-- black suit, white button-down shirt, and dark patterned silk tie. Every inch of his costume, from his short, neatly groomed hair, to his shiny black leather oxford shoes was as elegantly nondescript as it could possibly be. If it weren't for the beaky nose, and the sour expression, Hermione could have passed him on a London street and not looked twice.

"Professor! You cut off your hair!" squealed one of the scandalized Slytherins.

"I did not!" he growled darkly. "I merely transfigured it. You don't honestly think I want to look like a Muggle one second longer than is necessary, do you?"

Several girls shook their heads.

"Everyone ready? Come!" he ordered, and they all filed out behind him.

They had to walk down a few corridors to get out of the castle, and Hermione noticed a lot of students, up unnaturally early, hanging about to watch them leave. Their procession must have made a very odd sight: Professor Snape, dressed like a Muggle banker, walking in stiff, disapproving dignity, followed by sixteen girls of various sizes-- all dressed in identical Muggle jogging suits, each with a knot of glossy curls on the top of her head, and each carrying an identical black bag.

Hermione had to stifle a giggle. It reminded her of Make Way for Ducklings. People in the corridors moved out of their way and stood gaping at them. She wondered if Professor Snape had ever read that endearing book as a child. Probably not. She had no idea what little wizard boys and girls were given to read when small, but she could probably bet, with safety, that that book was not one of them!

It was obvious that Snape hated the attention his parade was causing. Hermione saw him walk a little faster and straighter, and she felt a stab of sympathy for him. She also felt sympathy for her team. Snape would take it out on them.

They passed out of the castle and filed into a small, shiny black bus with the Hogwarts crest on the side. Filch was sitting at the wheel. He nodded dourly at Professor Snape and glared nastily out of his pouchy eyes at the girls. Nobody looked back at him. There was just enough room for all of them to sit two to a seat on either side of the aisle, with Snape behind Filch and their gear on the seat across from him. Hermione wondered if this was one of those magical vehicles that could change size.

"Before we leave, I will have a word."

As always, all noise and chatter ceased when Snape spoke. He looked around at each of the girls with warning flashing from his somber black eyes.

"We are going into Muggle Territory. I should not need to tell you this, but I shall tell you anyway. There will be no-- absolutely NO-- magic performed by ANYONE. Do you understand?"

Heads nodded. Girls who, a second before, had been teasing and giggling, looked solemn and earnest. Snape's chilling gaze raked over them all, and he continued on in his trademark sinister, soft voice.

"You are representing our school, and our race, and you will be on your best behavior at all times. Any wands will be kept strictly in your bags. I don't care _what _the provocation, no one will use magic. The one who does, will deal... With... Me. Understood?"

They all nodded again.

"Good."

He had just turned to give Filch the order to move, when somebody spoke up.

"Wait, Professor! What about _your_ wand?"

Snape looked back, a picture of menacing surprise-- like a snake stepped on in a moment of stupidity. Hermione felt a thrill of apprehension. No one interrupted the Potions master and came out unscathed, unless... as in this case... that person was a Slytherin. There was a long, dangerous pause.

"My wand will also be safely hidden away." His eyes swept the group again. "But that needn't worry you." He held up a hand bearing a large ring-- a ring concealing a tiny piece of wood behind his finger. An emergency wand. "I can still protect you, and I can still _chastise_ you... should you need it."

There was another tense pause while the team digested the information, and their Advisor regarded them with raptor eyes. Hermione noted that the ring was on Professor Snape's right hand, which meant that was his wand hand. It also meant that it wasn't a wedding ring, though why Hermione should suddenly think of that, she had no idea. She never inquired into the personal lives of teachers. It wasn't polite.

After another measured, warning stare, Snape faced forward again. "You may leave now, Filch," he ordered, and the bus moved down the gravel carriage way. Once out of the gate, Snape touched the tip of his regular wand to a spot on the ceiling. There was a jolt and a "Bang" and the entire bus teleported away from Hogwarts. Filch pulled out onto a Muggle style road, smooth and black with new tarmac, and their journey really began.

Hermione would have wished for an uneventful ride, but they had Filch as chauffeur. He drove like a madman, hunched over the wheel, his neck craned to eye the road in dour mistrust, occasionally cursing under his breath. He also appeared to be addicted to speed. The engine of the little bus revved like a roaring dragon, and the giggling conversations of the girls were frequently punctuated by squeals as the bus took turns too sharply or careened a bit too dauntingly down the road.

Snape appeared to be paying little attention. He gazed calmly out the window in disgusted, bored nonchalance, but Hermione could hear his casual comments to their wizened driver.

"If you go any faster, Filch, this bus will _fly_."

"Are you actually trying to get us all killed, or is it simply that you can't see the road?

"That was a _tree_, by the way. Try not to hit them. They make lousy hood ornaments."

Hermione hid a smile. The old custodian's driving _was_ awful, but she had endured far worse. She had ridden the Knight Bus! And it seemed to degenerate even more as they approached civilization. Once on the highway, the trip resembled a roller-coaster ride.

Filch wove his way past Muggle drivers, swearing furiously, and scowling obscenely, the bus lurching and swaying like a sailor on leave. He manage to squeeze between gaps in cars that, technically, he shouldn't have been able to get through. No magic indeed! Since Filch was a squib, it was the bus itself that was doing this, and the old caretaker was going along for the ride-- and obviously enjoying it.

"_Don't_ think that just because I have a wand that I will save you in the case of an accident, or if you are detained by Muggle authorities." Snape's voice was smooth and calm, but he seemed to be speaking through clenched teeth. "I promise you, the captain will go down with the ship!"

Filch shot a fowl, resentful look at the man who had all the advantages and wouldn't let anyone else have any fun. But he did tone it down. After a short, uneventful period, they reached their destination.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus alighted from the bus, thankful to get his feet firmly on hard, solid ground. He would make Filch pay. How, he didn't yet know, but he would find something suitable. At present, he concentrated on herding his flock of incognito witches into the strange Muggle building that was supposedly a school. He headed to the obvious entrance and began his descent into what would surely be hell.

Inside, he stopped to get his bearings. The entrance area was crowded with milling Muggles, some in uniform, others not, all seeming to know exactly what to do. A booming sound echoed from the bowels of the building. He could sense his troupe of Hogwarts girls huddling behind him.

A tanned, muscle-shirted man advance upon him with a mincing step, and addressed him in a high-pitched, girlish voice.

"Well! Since I don't already know you, you must be the new team! Hogwarts, isn't it?"

Snape nodded gravely.

"Let's see now," he lisped, "where shall I put your girls..." He absently rested a hand on Snape's arm as he surveyed, through an open door, what looked like an arena.

Severus stiffened and curled his lip in feral disgust. What gave this creature the temerity to touch him? He flinched regally and sent him a blistering scowl, but the man only sized him up as if he were a funny exhibit in a zoo.

"Right over there, dears. Corner bleachers." He pointed in the direction of the arena. "And _you _can get them registered over at that table." He smiled over his shoulder at Severus as he pointed to the registration table and minced quickly away.

With crawling flesh, Snape set off to get them registered, while Miss Granger led the other girls and Filch to their assigned spot. Severus took a place in the queue with a feeling of utter abandonment. He felt worse than a fish out of water. He was a fish in a pan.

"Name?" A cheerful, heavily made up Muggle was sitting in the command spot behind the table with girls in matching bright red uniforms on either side of her.

"Severus Snape. Hogwarts Flyers."

She scanned a list with a pencil tip. "What school?"

"Hogwarts Academy of Ma--" He shuddered and caught himself just in time. Somehow he was able to make his last word trail into a cough.

"Math and Science," piped up a voice next to him.

Snape glanced over and saw Miss Granger. He had no idea how she had gotten back to him so quickly, but for that split second, he was actually glad. Normally, he would have French-fried a student who finished a sentence for him. Not this time though. This was an extraordinary circumstance.

"Hogwarts Academy of Math and Science," he stated.

"Oh yes, I see it here. Hogwarts Academy. Sixteen girls?"

Snape nodded. So did Miss Granger.

"Here you go." She handed him papers. "Fee is paid in advance. Good! Warm-up time for your team is 12:00. Competition time is 2:00. You're in box four, Mr. Snape. Your girls can get changed now."

Miss Granger moved away to join the team, and Snape went in quest of Judges Box four. As he watched her disappear into the crowd, he had an irrational impulse to call her back. He actually felt her absence. He was now completely on his own and surrounded by Muggles.

Snape had never been in a place like this. It was like the inside of a human anthill, and he felt a twinge of claustrophobia. Muggles swarmed the bleachers on all sides of him, milling all about him. Besides cheerleaders, there were gangs of blue-jeaned students, parents and screaming children, men with cameras, and masses of scruffy, sinister youths. An actual anthill would probably look better.

In various corners, groups of girls practiced stunts. "One, TWO, three, FOUR, five, SIX, seven, EIGHT!" And everywhere bare legs flashed. It was impossible not to look. He found himself a seat in box four.

A middle-aged Muggle with a crisp, blonde coif held out a hand to him. Snape eyed it frostily.

"Cassandra Whittle from Mistlethwaite Public. And you're Mr...?"

"Snape."

"What school, Mr. Snape?" She flashed him a white-toothed smile.

"Hogwarts."

"Oh. The new team. Hmm.. Hogwarts is a rather odd name for a school."

"And Mistlethwaite isn't?"

"One doesn't see too many _men _coaches, Mr. Snape," she continued.

Snape saw despairingly that he was the only male judge. Beautiful... No wonder the flaming pansy in the lobby thought to take liberties! _Dumbledore was going to pay for this if it was the last thing he did!_

"I am not a coach," he replied with cold dignity. "I am a Faculty Advisor. That is all."

"You're a teacher then. What's your subject?"

Severus did some quick thinking.

"Chemistry."

"Oooh! How very scientific! You've calculated all the angles, I suppose?" She smiled again and winked.

Severus curled his lip. Was she flirting with him? She had to be close to fifty! Well, better her than that queer. To Snape, the only thing lower than a wizard queer was a Muggle queer, but an aging Muggle bimbo wasn't much higher. He eyed the woman in distaste. Odd. He usually preferred older woman, though not necessarily this old. Perhaps this one only revolted him because she was a Muggle-- a vulgar and obviously dimwitted Muggle. Or, maybe it was the sight of all these nubile, back-flipping sirens... He watched as Miss Granger did an amazing string of continuous back-handsprings culminating in a beautiful pike somersault.

"One of yours? Not bad," the blonde woman said critically. "Her form's a bit off, and she needs more height, but she does have polish. Well, we'll have to see how the rest of your team shapes up, won't we?"

"**Whitehall Rockets! On the practice mat! Five minutes!" **a lisping voice boomed.

This ended the one sided conversation, as no words could possibly be heard during the practice rounds. The music, if it could be called that, was loud enough to be painful, and the infernal devices responsible for blasting it seemed to be pointed, in diabolical fashion, right at the judges box. Raucous sounds thundered through the floor, through his chair, and into his bones. He could feel them vibrate up through the soles of his shoes to base of his skull to where he knew he'd have a pounding headache at the end of the day.

_And this would go in until when? Sweet Merlin! help me!_

He cursed Dumbledore under his breath. His headmaster couldn't have found a more effective method of torturing him. And he had been right about the uniforms too. The attire, or lack of it, of the Hogwarts girls was mild compared with that worn by the Muggles around him. The sight of so much exposed female flesh was dizzying.

Scantily clad women were everywhere. Gaggles of uniformed girls strode constantly by in arrogant, long-legged splendor, like walking advertisements for sex. Snape felt sweat bead out on his forehead. In spite of his iron control, he had the beginnings of an arousal.He tried not to look, but he couldn't help himself.

Turning his eyes to the spectators didn't help. Was this really the state of Muggle society? There was no decorum anywhere! Bands of youths were slouching about in baggy, voluminous trousers. Snape observed the spiked hair, the bizarre goatees, and the many varieties of pierced skin. He saw girls sidle past these ruffians in jeans so low the beginnings of their pubic curves were showing. They displayed belly rings, tongue rings, and tattoos, and they wore shirts so brief that their décolletage almost met their bare midriffs. And no one seemed to think anything of it. He seemed to be the only one appalled. Apparently this was normal. This was insane.

Much of what the teams on the mat were doing seemed lewd, and their practice clothes looked worse than their uniforms. One nearby group appeared to be stretching in their underwear. Their tiny black skintight knickers showed off each rounded butt to perfection, while their tops looked like bands of crisscrossed elastic with only a fringe of cloth below. With every move, those fringes rode up and displayed tantalizing views of each bare, buff torso.

Severus stared in spite of himself. These were muscular girls, strong girls, women with supple, sinuous bodies. It wasn't hard to imagine those bodies practicing intimate skills-- EXACTLY what a teacher _shouldn't_ be imagining! _Blast Dumbledore to the deepest pit! _Snape's arousal was becoming painful...

He stifled a groan. If this kept on, he would need a trip to Knockturn Alley. Severus did a swift, calming mental escape, picturing all the brothels he knew, and pondering which one he would visit. He envisioned a sweet young thing leading him up a set of stairs, her supple form ascending before him. He saw the grace of her movements, the slope of her shoulders, the thick tangle of her luscious, bushy brown curls...

_Where did THAT image come from? _

Snape's stomach took a sudden jolt. He had just pictured himself with a STUDENT. He _couldn't be thinking that!_ This had to stop! Knockturn Alley was out of the question now. A cold shower would definitely be better-- safer. He ground his teeth in frustration. The booming music echoed the throbbing in his privates. How long was this torture going to go on? He took a quick look over at his students.

The Hogwarts girls were gaping about them like tourists at Disneyland. They giggled, pointed, and nudged each other shamelessly. Filch wasn't even trying to restrain them. He just sat in hunched, sinister disapproval, guarding their hamper of supplies as if it were a treasure of Sorcerer's Stones, his pouchy face grim with abject misery-- and hatred. If looks could kill, Filch would have hexed everyone here. Snape felt like doing that himself. A well placed zap to the source of that infernal music would be a start.

A gang of mangy boys sauntered over to the Hogwarts group, and Snape watched in outrage as some of the girls, even the Slytherins, began flirting with them. He snapped his fingers under the table and sent the offenders a pinching hex, noting with satisfaction as they jumped in alarm. They looked over at him guiltily and he indicated, with a quick jerk of his head, that they should discourage their admirers. The Muggle boys turned, saw his menacing gaze, and moved off. Filch just flicked his eyes resentfully from Snape to the girls and shrugged.

Snape watched the youths until they were safely away from his charges. They looked like members of some strange, backward island tribe-- natives that practiced lewd rites and shrank heads. The sooner he and his girls were back to their own world, the better. What was the matter with these smartly dressed Muggle matrons next to him? They all seemed to think being surrounded by indecent savages was normal. They even seemed to be able to talk to each other over this pounding music!

"**Hogwarts Flyers, on the mat! Five minutes!"**

Miss Granger and her team swarmed onto the mat and went through their routine. As the other teams had been doing, they performed their group chant in almost a whisper, and Snape wondered at that. Why bother to spare people the sound of your screaming when your music was already making them deaf? At least Severus was gratified to see that his girls appeared to be as proficient as any of the teams around them. He tried not to actually look at Miss Granger, but he did anyway, of course. He watched her every move.

After several more teams went through their practices, the lisping announcer called a brief intermission for refreshments and souvenirs. The volume of the music was lowered significantly, but unfortunately not lowered all together. Severus took a moment to enjoy the ability to actually hear again.

"So tell me, Mr. Snape," came a voice from next to him. "Who is your choreographer?"

"Yes," said another. "From whom did you buy your routine?"

"Excuse me?" He asked sneeringly. The words made no sense.

"Your cheer routine looks very similar to the one we used at the Hempstead Tournament last year. Extremely familiar. Did you purchase it from someone? We'd like to know who it was."

"Or did you perhaps _not _purchase it? There are penalties for that sort of thing, you know."

Snape couldn't believe it. Of all the unbearable cheek! This was the last flaming straw. Who did they think they were talking to? His voice lowered ominously to the whispering level, and it shook from the effort to keep from screaming.

"Are you insinuating that I'm a cheat... a plagiarist? Are you casting aspersions on my school and my students-- HOGWARTS students? Are you actually accusing ME of _stealing_?"

Faces around him simpered. Superior, knowing looks were flashed at him.

"Oh come now, Mr. Snape. Let's not be melodramatic. We all know these things happen, and quite frequently too-- especially with novice teams. There's no need to put on a show."

"I don't care what happens in your _filthy _little world! Hogwarts students are not part of it! They are not thieves, and neither am I! Even if I were, I wouldn't steal anything connected to this stupid... this asinine... this INSANE activity!"

"Really!"

"Don't you think you're protesting just a bit too much?"

Severus slapped his hand down on the table in ice cold fury and bared his teeth.

"That is enough! I don't need this ridiculous nonsense! This is a complete and utter WASTE OF MY TIME! I could be in my lab doing something meaningful. I could be conducting important, groundbreaking research! I could be discovering the cure to the common cold, or the flu, or Dragon Pox, or something!"

Several pairs of Muggle eyes gave him blank stares.

_Dragon Pox... Merlin's Buttocks! There went the bloody Statute of Secrecy!_ _How bad could this day get?_

Snape rose from his chair.

"Don't you just walk away from us! Where do you think you're going?"

"To the LOO! Do you wish to watch?" Then he leaned down, hands on the table, and glared at them furiously.

"For your information, there is no _bloody _possible way ANY of my students could have stolen their routine from you, since none of the girls, with the pitiful exception of one, had _ever_ practiced this 'sport' before! And the one student who has, was stuck in hospital for a year and a half, and couldn't have been at your Hempstead Tournament even if she wanted to! As for ME, I never even _heard_ Cheerleading until two weeks ago, and I wish I never had!"

The blonde woman bristled, "Well! If you feel that way about it, why did you come at all?"

"I had no choice!" Snape spat, straightening and preparing to leave. "I'm being punished."

"Punished?"

"Yes. By my headmaster. For rude and antisocial behavior!"

Snape turned his back with swift, majestic grace and stalked out of the arena.


	7. In the Realm of the Damned

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 7: _In the Realm of the Damned_**

Snape strode through the crowd of Muggles like a charging bull ploughing through a flock of sheep. He needed to clear his head. He needed to regain control. He needed a break, even a short one, from that loud, raucous music and those insulting, bitchy women or he was going to lose it completely and _hex_ someone... Perhaps he really would visit the loo. It had to be quieter in there.

People moved out of his way instinctively, as if sensing the figurative smoke pouring from his ears-- or perhaps he just looked frightening. He had, after all, been scaring students for the past seventeen years. To bad he couldn't scare those cheeky judges! _Why was life so insufferably unfair?_

There were more people in the entrance area than there had been before. Queues of Muggles were paying to get in, and masses more were milling about, laughing and shouting to each other, and buying souvenirs. Tables had been set up all along the hallway, and venders were hawking everything from food, trinkets, and raffle tickets, to ridiculous clothing with cheerleading slogans painted on them. One enterprising Muggle was actually printing shirts while his customers watched and waited. The Misses Patil were next in line, arguing over the advantages of black on pink, or pink on black. Snape rolled his eyes and hurried past them. He just had to get OUT.

After a quick visit to the loo, wherein he discovered that Muggle public toilets were every bit as nasty as wizard public toilets, he found an exit and stepped outside. Here, it was quiet, and Severus leaned against the wall of the building in an attempt to get a moment's worth of peace. Not that there was much of that to be had. Students were taking outrageous advantage of the sun this part of Britain was getting.

In various places on the grounds, and in shady corners of the building, they were having a sexual frolic, groping each other shamefully, or snogging like animals in heat. _Was there nobody monitoring this?_ Snape's wand-hand itched for action. Hogwarts students caught doing this in PUBLIC ( he had no doubts about what they did in private... ) would receive detention, and their house would loose points. How he wished he could impose such needed discipline on these unruly brats! A creative hex here... a magical spanking there... but, sadly, the Scourge of Hogwarts could only look away.

"Not admiring the view?"

Snape looked over and saw with disgust that the Muggle Queer was lounging on the other side of the doorway and having a smoke. Severus regarded him with icy disdain.

"I see nothing admirable in open depravity."

The Muggle took a leisurely puff on his cigarette. He eyed Snape mockingly. "I suppose you'd think better of closet depravity. Or, perhaps... hypocrisy."

_Hypocrisy? Of all the bloody nerve!_ Severus ground his teeth but made no reply.

"Your girls are rather good, actually." He puffed again and blew the smoke at Snape. "Pity you seem to be ashamed of them."

_Ashamed of them? Who did he think he was?_ Snape grimaced at the acrid smell of spent tobacco. Nicotine was the principal ingredient in some of the most potent toxins. He had no desire to breathe it in. And while at least the creature was smoking outside, and not in a warehouse full of students, he was arrogantly ruining someone else's lungs. Was he stupid, or simply selfish?

"Do you realize that you are poisoning yourself?" he sneered, waving the smoke away from him.

The man contemplated his cigarette, shrugged, and looked back at Severus before taking another deliberate exaggerated puff. "Perhaps. But life is short anyway. Coffee, tobacco, and sweet, fattening food make it speed along so much more pleasantly." He smirked wickedly at Severus. "Does this mean that you care?"

Snape jerked himself away from the wall. **"In your dreams**!" he snarled, and then pointed at the cigarette and hissed, "Please have another! Don't let me stop you!" before heading back into the crowded, stuffy building, away from the chuckles of laughter behind him.

Reentering the roaring, pounding arena was like stepping back into a boiling cauldron of humanity. Crowds of more Muggles were pouring in and scrambling up into the bleachers. Some wore matching hats or jackets, or carried bizarre, colorful accessories. Banners had been hung all over the place. Snape scanned the names on the banners, names that bordered on the barbaric-- the Hawks, the Warriors, the Bulldogs, the Demons..._ Demons?_ He shuddered. These people had no idea how ignorant they were!

Didn't anyone but him see the incongruity in all this madness? There was something dark and disturbing about pretty, young girls wearing skimpy uniforms with cutsy bows and curls, shouting war chants with a smile. _"Fight! Fight! Fight, team, fight!"_ was a primal scream, vestigial barbarism! Who said women were the gentler sex? These girls should have been shaking spears and shrieking from woad-painted faces. Muggles had always been warlike, after all. Every wizard knew that! But what was he doing in the midst of it? And was there any guarantee of getting out?

His earlier feeling of claustrophobia had now become staggering. This place was almost filled to capacity. What would happen in the event of a crisis? He could always aparate out, but not all of the girls could do so. Filch certainly couldn't. If a calamity such as a fire occurred, it would be up to him to get them all out, and he wasn't sure he'd have enough time. As he approached box four, he wondered if this infernal Muggle arena would turn out to be his tomb. The judges on either side threw him nasty looks as he sat down. Well, he wouldn't lift a finger to save _them!_

Music echoed to the ceiling and vibrated through the floor. He didn't know what was worse, the deep, pounding percussion, or the high, screeching vocals. It was sound designed to stir the blood, to raise the nerves to battle frenzy. Snape could imagine a large scale riot breaking out at any moment, and indeed, the mood of the crowd was restive. What had once seemed like a human anthill now resembled a roaring hive of human hornets-- restless, angry hornets that could erupt into a stinging mob at the slightest provocation. Sweat rolled down his spine. Thinking about hornets hadn't been wise.

Tension appeared to be mounting, as the music continued to throb through the arena. Various teams seated on bleachers were clapping and swaying in time to the beat. One team would tilt one way, while another team, above or below them, would lean another. A few girls still practiced tumbling in one's and two's on the mat, Miss Granger and the Patil sisters among them. As Snape watched, one young sylph in blue and white miscalculated and landed on her head. There was a collective "Oooh!" that groaned from the watching crowd and the movement in the bleachers paused.

Severus half rose out of his seat in alarm, but sat back down as the girl stirred and struggled to her feet. She appeared to be all right. But if she hadn't been, what did he honestly think he was going to do? He was another team's Faculty Advisor, not a recognized healer-- and he wasn't allowed to use magic. He watched impotently as the girl was led away by her teammates and given ice, and the clapping, stomping, and swaying went on as before.

The rowdiness of the crowd was rising as more and more teams began clapping and moving to the music. Sporadic hoots and hollers were ringing out, and there was an occasional rattle or crash of some sort of noisemaker. The music pounded and throbbed, and Snape felt like a wretched inmate in Dante's lowest level of hell. A chant had begun by one of the groups in the bleachers and it was taken up and echoed by various others in the arena, until all the spectators were a clapping, shouting, swaying mass-- like treetops tossing in a hurricane gale.

"Let's get it started now!"

"Let's get it started in here!"

"Let's get it started now!"

"Let's get it started in here!"

When the music suddenly stopped, there was a roar from the crowd and the gay Muggle stepped up to a podium in front of a mountain of shining gold trophies. He tapped on the microphone of the public address system to signal the people to be quiet. A relative hush fell over the room.

"**Good afternoon, everybody! Hillsboro Secondary School welcomes you to the tenth annual HILLSBORO CHEERFEST!"**

The crowd screamed and clapped, and the bleachers thundered with stamping.

"**And what are we going to do today, girls? Well I'll tell you! We're going to compete, and we're going to cheer, and we're going to HAVE FUN!"**

More cacophonous screaming erupted to the pointwhere Severus thought his ears would pop.

"**But first we'll observe the National Anthem, sung by Miss Prunella Pinkely of Hillsboro!"**

The whole assembly rose, and Snape suffered through a horrendously off-key performance of "God Save the Queen," sung by a pony-tailed cheerleader who seemed to feel the song needed an artful and unique rendering. When she was finished, there was more thunderous clapping. Severus wanted to stop, drop, and cover under the unrelenting audio barrage. He looked down at the score sheet on the desk in front of him and tried to concentrate, through a growing headache, on what his duties would be, as the lisping announcer introduced all the members of the hosting Hillsboro team.

Judges in box four were responsible to give points for:

Motions-- Technique, Timed, Controlled, Sharp, Tight, Varied, Difficult

_10 out of 10_

Dance-- Innovative, of Team Involved, Fast Paced, Exciting, Timing, Rhythm,

Appropriate Selection and use of Music and Movement, Execution, Visually

Effective

_10 out of 10_

Creative Use of Material-- Imaginative, Appropriate for all ages, Good Incorporation

& Presentation of all Elements

_5 out of 5_

Appearance-- Neatness, Appropriate Use of Style and Color, Uniformity Throughout

Team, Aesthetic Overall Effect, Proper Fastening of Hair

_5 out of 5_

Were they kidding? Judging the motions was one thing, but the "appropriate selection of music?" and, "appropriate for all ages?" As far as he was concerned, there was NOTHING appropriate for any age in the selection of the music! What passed for music here sounded like wailings from the pit.

"**First team to compete is... The Wolchester Warriors! Let's hear it for Wolchester! Abbeville, you're next on the warm-up mat!**

The Wolchester Warriors, a team in crisp red and white, took up their position on the mat. A few cameras flashed. Someone rang a cowbell. A whole crowd of spectators in red and white screeched and shook noisemakers.

"Go! Go! Warriors! Give 'em hell! some of them shouted.

"_We're already there," _thought Snape as music resembling shots fired through the floor ushered in the Warriors routine.

If it was actually possible, the level of sound was now even louder. The whole cavernous arena seemed to pulse with the pounding beat that the team before him moved to in back-flipping, hip swinging, arm waving frenzy. Unlike in the practice rounds, the girls were holding nothing back. They bellowed out their belligerent war chant in full berserker intensity, as if hoping to incite their audience to violent action. Thunderous rumbles ran through the bleachers as hordes of spectators echoed a response and Snape's head pounded along with them in abject misery.

**GO BIG RED! SAY IT!"**

( GO! BIG! RED!)

**"FIGHT WHITE FIGHT!** **COME ON!"**

( FIGHT! WHITE! FIGHT!)

The Warriors ended their routine with a dizzying rash of tumbling moves and a spectacular pyramid, and the crowd roared with approval. Snape made a few marks on the score sheet. The next team took their place on the mat, then the next, and the next... like a series of blows in a medieval Trial by Ordeal.

On the only bright side, as a sort of Faustian _quid pro quo_, Snape no longer suffered from an arousal. After hours of pounding music and ear shredding screams, the legions of long legged, athletic girls didn't even look remotely sexy. They were all just one more group of muscular young women that jumped, tumbled, chanted, and formed pyramids. Just one more uniformed team that he had to give marks for Motions, Dance, Creativity, and Neatness. Some were better than others. All of them made mistakes.

He made a monumental effort to ignore his head and analyze their moves. Each performance was only two and a half minutes long, and there weren't that many teams, so surely this couldn't take much longer. All he had to do was look for mistakes and take away points. Merlin knew he was good at that! But the throbbing music was like a pack of freight trains bearing down on him. The hot, close air of the arena seemed to be seeping into his soul. The screams from the stands were deafening. Any man will break under torture eventually, and Severus had no idea how much more he could take.

Between performances, various groups of sitting cheerleaders would clap and stomp, and chant something down to a team on the mat. What were rivals doing cheering each other on? Or were they chanting curses? Snape knew that was what _he_ would be doing. He dearly wished he could do so now...

"**Tyngsboro Tigers onto the floor! Hogwarts Flyers to the practice mat!"**

Severus watched Miss Granger lead the Hogwarts team to the side mat to wait for their turn to compete. For some reason, most of them looked nervous, though he didn't blame them. Hours and hours of audio hell would unnerve anybody. The girls were stealing him furtive glances. He frowned as a few broke into an obvious squabble. What was wrong with them? All they had to do was their two and a half minutes on that stupid mat and they were done! He made a few more marks on the Tyngsboro score sheet. This ordeal was almost over.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione looked around as she rallied her team onto the mat. The bleachers were full of roiling, milling people. Each team seemed to have their own fan section wearing their team's colors, waving flags, or holding mascots. They all seemed to have parents, brothers, sisters, or boyfriends watching them. And each section was topped by a banner.

The Hogwart's section didn't have a banner. It was completely empty except for Filch sitting ugly and sullen, guarding their hamper of emergency supplies with a resentful scowl. There was no one to lend them support, to cheer them on, or to care how well they performed. They were completely alone in foreign territory, unknown interlopers, new kids on the block. Hermione wished that she had thought to at least bring a banner. She had an uneasy sense of vulnerability.

Snape was sitting stern, stiff, and disapproving in Judges Box four. He looked thoroughly miserable and, again, Hermione felt sympathy for him. He was a fish out of water, after all. She tried to imagine how alien this all must be for him and almost flashed him an encouraging smile. But she thought better of it. It would not be appreciated. Even in the midst of his extreme discomfort, he still managed to maintain that ice cold malevolent dignity.

The girls were fish out of water too, reacting to the strangeness of the Muggle scene, as well as the sheer numbers of the spectators. They looked almost panicky, and Hermione realized with a sinking feeling, that although she had done her best to get them ready to compete, she hadn't thought to tell them what a Tournament was actually _like. _Now they were behaving like novice actors with jitters on Opening Night, and trying desperately not to look at the sea of Muggle faces, or at the Judges Box where they knew Snape was. But even if they didn't see him, they could all sense his dark, resentful presence.

"There's so _many _Muggles!" moaned Parvati.

"Thousands of them!" echoed Amanda Marsh.

"And they're all looking at us!" squeaked Jerrolyn Sweet.

"But Jerry," said Hermione encouragingly. "You've played Quiddich. This can't be any worse than that!"

"But that's different! You're outside, up in the air, and safe on a broom! You can't see much of the crowds, and you rarely even hear them. This is like being in a cage!"

Hermione couldn't see any safety in being high in the air with only a thin little broomstick keeping her up. Flying gave her the willies. She had never learned to properly handle a broom, and she hated not being in control. In a tumbling run, she knew _exactly _how far she was above the ground, and she could control, with precision, just how she came down to meet it. She supposed it all boiled down to perspective. Her team's perspective, right now, seemed dismal.

"Snape's staring at us as if he wished we would die!"

"He _hates _us! He wants us to fail!"

"I just know he'll take points off for _everything!_"

"Forget Professor Snape!" Hermione cautioned. "Just ignore him. Pretend we're back in our practice hall at Hogwarts. Pretend he isn't there."

"How can we do that when we can see the Old Bat right in front of us, larger than life and twice as ugly?"

"HEY! That's my head of house! Pruney old McGonagall is ugly too!"

"Well she's not here, and he is, and ooh! He's giving me the creeps!"

"Don't look at him! Look somewhere else-- over his head, or off to the side, or... Look at that nice friendly blonde Muggle next to him! Come on, team. Pull yourselves together!"

"**Hogwarts Flyers on the mat!"**

She forced the girls to their places on the mat, faced the Judges Box, and waited to begin.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The music started, the Hogwarts Flyers began their routine, and while Snape watched in horrified amazement, the team seemed to fall apart before his very eyes. Girls hesitated or faltered. Miss Granger couldn't get enough height in her string of back-flips and fell to her knees in landing. The Patil sisters missed their tumbling cues altogether, and the performance felt off-center and lopsided. Girls bumped into each other and forgot their places. Their chanting was ragged, their voices were squeaks, and their dance moves were stiff, jerky, and all over the place. There was very little unison or cohesion. The whole thing looked like a mess.

Severus just stared. What was happening to them? The girls looked terrified as if battling Bogarts. The team bore little resemblance at all to the group he had witnessed two weeks ago with Dumbledore. He winced as they made error after error, each mistake leading to another, until there didn't seem to be one wrong thing that _didn't_ happen. It was as though someone had hit them with a Disaster Curse! The only thing they did right was to keep going with a sort of valiant stubbornness-- and he accredited that to Miss Granger, whose set face wore the desperate expression of someone trying to hold together a crashing house of cards.

When the performance finally ended ( with a bump, as a flyer was dropped onto her rear,) there was a polite round of applause. The blond judge next to him gave him a poisonously smug look.

"Well, I suppose that wasn't SO bad for your team. Poor things. About what I expected, really!"

"Yes. And everyone could see that they... _tried._" The judge on his other side sounded patronizing.

All the other judges down the line smiled and eyed each other as they marked their score sheets, and Severus boiled with a rising cauldron of rage. How dare these Muggles look down on them! How _dare _they insult them! The tiny wand on his finger prickled. Too bad they didn't know who he really was. Too bad they didn't know who his girls were! Too bad he couldn't _show _them and wipe those insulting, superior expressions off their faces...

But of course he couldn't do that. If he did, there would be a riot and he would end up in trouble. He did his best to pull himself together and resist the temptation.

"**Let's all hear it for the Hogwarts Flyers!" **the announcer lisped with a nasty look in Snape's direction.** "Since this was their very FIRST performance EVER!**

But _that _creature deserved punishment! With that one sentence, he had changed their status from an unfortunate team having a bad day, to an unprepared team out of their league! Snape imagined scores of untraceable poisons he would have loved to have slipped him, or spells he would loved to have hit him with-- one to give him a normal voice, perhaps... or donkey ears... or a nice, full peacock tail... Miserably, he made marks on the Hogwarts score sheet.

Team after team followed the Hogwarts Flyers, and Snape followed the progress down the roster list, willing the whole thing to be over. He didn't think he could stand much more. His head was hurting. His eyes were hurting. His ears were beyond hurting, and he wondered if he was going deaf. It took all his nerve not to blast the Muggles on either side of him who looked pointedly in his direction every time one of the performing teams nailed a stunt the Hogwarts team had blown.

He savagely noted every mistake he could find, grimly justifying it by the fact that he had graded his own team harshly. How could he not? It would have made him look worse than stupid if he hadn't! Soon, soon, SOON it would end. Thankfully, the team performing was the very last on the roster. And once they were done, a winner would be announced and they could all LEAVE. A stunt group dropped a flyer and Snape pounced gleefully on the error. _Take that you insufferable Muggle peons!_

The music stopped and Snape held his breath.

"**And that concludes the competition run of the Hillsboro Cheerfest! Well done, girls! Well done!"**

_It's over! Oh, thank Heaven it's over! We're finally going to get out of here!_

Snape checked over the sheet he was scoring, and made a few concluding marks. He began to stack the score-sheets into a neat, businesslike pile.

"**And while the judges are submitting their score-sheets, and the marks are being tabulated, its time for a little FUN!" **

Severus looked up warily at the sound of the word "fun." All his instincts screamed in alarm.

"**ALL THE TEAMS, ONTO THE MAT! C'mon girls, shake your booties!"**

_What? What's this shake your booties? Sweet Merlin, what are they doing now?_

There was a sudden, loud, collective roar from all over the arena, as teams from every section of the bleachers rose up and started hurling themselves toward the mat, and a different voice intoned, from what felt like the floor:

"**_C'mon everybody! It's time to get... FUNKY!"_**

The overhead lights dimmed, and colorful strobes began flashing through the arena. Music began throbbing again with a deep, dark, diabolical beat:

BOOM! BOOM!

BOOM! BOOM!

Girls screamed and clapped, and a multitude of raving cheerleaders filled the small space of the performance mat, jumping and clapping, and moving together to a bizarre dance that every girl seemed to already know. Legs moved together. Bodies turned together. Voices shouted together, and the singer (or speaker) of the song ordered them exactly what to do...

**_STEP TO THE RIGHT!_**

BOOM! BOOM!

_**STEP TO THE LEFT!**_

BOOM! BOOM!

**_TWO HOPS NOW!_**

BOOM! BOOM!

**_TAKE IT BACK NOW Y"ALL!_**

BOOM! BOOM!

Those that couldn't fit onto the mat, surged all around it-- in front of him, behind him-- stepping and stomping, jumping and shouting, while the wild lights flashed and the whole place shook. To Snape, it looked like a riot in the Inferno, a dark revel in hell. Each relentless BOOM! BOOM! was the heartbeat of Hades, the battle-drum of the damned.

It was worse than deafening, it was maddening. Snape felt like he was being smothered as well as flogged, as if he was deep inside the bowls of a kettledrum-- a prisoner, or a sacrificial victim, a wizard captive trapped for torture by a sadistic Muggle dark lord. His skull pounded as if beat with clubs at every sonorous BOOM!

And then the song changed and the tempo quickened, racing like a pulse on adrenaline. The mob moved and stepped in military unison. Hundreds of girls pointed first one finger in the air, and then another. They shouted and clapped, turned, stepped and pointed, until the entire arena was a furious, surging, screaming sea of arms, heads, and pointing fingers. Snape had the sensation of drowning in waves of overpowering noise-- sinking in a storm-tossed ship. He was beginning to feel seriously queasy, and his headache had become one huge, pounding mass of agony.

Cool air and quiet were only memories. Peace and solitude, things of the past. All that existed now was the loud heartbeat of pounding percussion, and the thunderous clapping and stamping of feet. The noise was a tangible thing, a living suffocating blanket. He felt dizzy and faint in the claustrophobic heat, and he couldn't see the Hogwarts girls anymore as they seemed to have been swallowed up in raving maw of the multitude.

The music changed again-- adding the caterwaul of screaming, raging violins. The girls screeched and clapped, and the whole mob of them went on dancing joyfully at a wild, furious pace. He was losing his mind. He must be going mad. This sounded like an American Square Dance run amuck, a folk tune morphed into insanity. Even the words made no sense, and they were repeated over and over...

**_"I'd a been married a long time ago,_**

**_If it weren't for Cotton-eyed Joe!_**

**_Where did you come from, where did you go?_**

**_Where did you come from, Cotton-eyed Joe?"_**

The hordes in the stands were singing along. The bleachers were rumbling with stamping. Colorful lights flashed on and off. Everywhere he looked, people were whirling, stepping and shouting, and over it all the violins screamed. They were all going to die. He knew it! Didn't the wail of the Banshee signal death? There had to be thousands of Banshees yelling in here now. But at this point, Snape was almost beyond caring. Let them take him! Then, at least his head would stop hurting.

_Serve Dumbledore right if we died! He'd never forgive himself. And I'll haunt him for the rest of his short, miserable life!_

Without a thought for who would see him, and what they would think, he rested his miserable, splitting head in his hands and waited for the end to come.

_Author's Note: If this sounds crazy to you... and I'm sure that it does... remember that I'm describing from personal experience. I heard the BOOM! BOOM! In my head for hours after suffering through my first Tournament. It was fun, but it was torture too. I took a notebook with me to later Competions, and did my best to catch every impression_ _I could for this story. I read the banners, described the spectators, and recorded every wild thought that I had. The girl that fell on her head was one of ours... _

_I wish I remembered the words to the "Bootie Drop" song-- as my daughter calls it, the one where everybody points their fingers in the air and shouts. I would have put them in, but neither she, nor any of her friends, know the actual name of the song. They only know they're dancing the "Bootie-drop," whatever that is, so I couldn't look up the song on I did look up "Cotton-eyed Joe," as that one seems to be a favorite here in the States_. _I don't know if it is as popular in Britain, but it sounded like just the sort of song Snape would have HATED, so I included it. Poor man. _


	8. The Slytherin Point of View

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 8: _The Slytherin Point of View_**

The journey back to Hogwarts was far more subdued than the trip out from it that morning. The girls were quiet, tired from the long strain of being at the Competition, and the demoralization of their disastrous performance. Talking was done in whispers, and if anyone even considered making a sound louder than that, they thought better of it after looking at Snape. He made sure of it.

The headache he had been suffering for the past eight hours had mushroomed into larger than life proportions. To Severus, it felt as though the pain was a sentient being, an entity all to itself, and one that was malevolently gnawing its way through his skull. All that must have shown in his face considering the hush that prevailed in the bus and the wary glances the girls were giving him.

He almost wished someone _would_ cross him so that he could have the pleasure of cursing them, giving them a year's detention, or removing a million points from their house. It might take his mind off this migraine. He'd even take points from Slytherin if one of his students bothered him. Right now, all he wanted was to be safe in his nice, quiet, comfortable lab, getting his hands on a bottle of Headache Potion.

But Hogwarts was almost an hour away. He still had to endure a near-lethal ride with Filch driving as if chased by Furies, and the sunlight streaming through the windows trying to fry his eyes out their throbbing sockets. And what was far worse, he still had echoes of one of those infernal Muggle songs repeating over and over in his mind in some sort of diabolical continuous loop:

_How low can you go?_

_Boom! Boom!_

_Can you go real low?_

_Boom! Boom!_

_Twist a little now,_

_Boom! Boom!_

_Take it back now Y'all!_

_Boom! Boom!_

This had to be proof of brain damage. _Take it back now, Y'all? _What sort of gibberish was that? It certainly wasn't English. Prolonged torture must have unhinged his mind. He felt as though he had been worked over by deatheaters for days and days.

The girls looked almost as bad as he felt. They resembled wilted flowers, all spark extinguished, long in the face, and downcast of eye. Even their hair ribbons drooped dispiritedly. Miss Granger's hair piece still hung lopsided from her knot of bound up hair, and Snape raged wearily upon seeing it.

_Of all the stupid things to have happened! _That wig flying loose in the middle of a stunt was the lowest point of the whole ordeal, and it made them appear totally ridiculous. He hadn't needed to look at the judges next to him to know they were laughing. He could hear them! The only positive note was that it hadn't fallen off entirely and tripped someone, and Miss Granger had actually kept going, even with it dangling in her face. He had to give her some grudging credit there. But he was going to _flay _the incompetent girl she had assigned to sew it on...

Filch swerved upon entering an intersection, cut off another car, and the Muggle driver blasted the horn. The noise stabbed through Snape's head like barbed harpoon.

"Watch what you're doing, you fool!" he snarled. "Drive this bloody thing properly or I'll hex you blind!"

Normally the old caretaker was eager to please him, and would have apologized for what ever Snape was sore at him for-- and he _knew _the Potions master was subject to headaches. But Filch, too, seemed to have been pushed beyond his endurance. He sent Snape a sour, grudge-filled look that seemed to say, "Go ahead! You can't hurt me any worse than I've already suffered!" And he turned his face insolently back to the road and revved the engine.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his head against the cool metal wall of the bus. He closed his eyes to try to still the malignant throbbing. The blinding glare of the late afternoon sun was making him nauseous, and he could still see the brightness through the lids of his closed eyes. The bus went over a sudden bump and the resulting vibration was like a war hammer cracking his skull. Even his cheekbones hurt. His stomach roiled in protest.

"Professor Snape?"

_He died!_

"Professor?"

The only thing that kept him from blasting the imbecile who had the audacity to bother him was the fact that the effort would probably make him lose his lunch. There was NO WAY he could risk the indignity of vomiting in front of a student! He concentrated carefully on keeping his temper from erupting, and his stomach from being suddenly, violently sick.

"Excuse me, sir. But do you have a headache?"

It was Miss Granger, of course. Who else would persist in talking when he desperately wanted quiet? He opened one eye and gave her a bleary but lethal look.

"Yes!" he snarled in his softest, deadliest whisper. "And since you are SO perceptive to notice it, one would think you'd be perceptive enough to _leave me in PEACE!"_

"Would you like some Headache Remedy Potion?"

He opened the other eye.

"You _have _some?"

"Yes, sir! I brought along every type of medicine that I thought we might need. Here, Professor."

She reached out to him, and there in her hand ( Oh Blessing! ) was a small, tightly stoppered glass vial. He took it but eyed it skeptically.

"Who brewed it?"

"I did."

"Humph!"

But the color was good, and when he uncorked it and sniffed its contents, it smelled right too. And since Miss Granger was actually a good potion brewer, chances were, she had made it correctly. Not that it really mattered at this point. His head was pounding so badly that he would probably have drunk it even if it _were_ poison. Either way, his pain would stop. He downed it.

Instantly, the hot waves of agony began to recede. The throbbing behind his eyes faded into peace, and the sensation of impending sickness left him. He blinked in the glare of the sun through the windows and found he could actually do it. Although he could still hear the echoes of the barbaric Muggle music in his mind, his headache was gone.

"Thank you," he said stiffly into her worried, earnest face, and she nodded politely-- the absurd, half attached wiglet flopping as she did so. Snape sighed carefully and relaxed against the back of his seat. Now, perhaps, he could collect his thoughts and make some sort of sense out of today's madness-- the victim searching for a way to become the victor, or at least to make somebody else the victim.

Filch swerved the bus suddenly, and Miss Granger, who had just taken back the empty potion vial, tumbled into Snape's lap. There was an awkward moment as the two of them hastily tried to sort themselves out, a moment in which the dangling wiglet tickled Severus in the face and a certain amount of fumbling hands and flailing elbows connected in embarrassing ways. The potion vial hit the floor with a tinkling smash, and a few shocked, giggling gasps sounded from the other girls.

"Do that again, Filch, and I'll kill you personally!" he growled savagely, hoisting Miss Granger quickly to her feet, but not before registering the disconcerting sensation of her plump, warm backside on his knees. The red faced girl hurried back to her seat, while Snape recovered his dignity as best as he could. He could still sense the shape and the feel of her, and he pushed the thought of it to the far frontiers of his mind.

He concentrated instead on the blissful sensation of _not _having a headache. It was a pleasant subject of thought, but it led Snape to muse on Miss Granger's unexpected thoughtfulness in offering him that potion. Most Griffindors went out of the way to _give _him headaches! Why would she be so kind to him? He hadn't given her any reason to be kind. In the last two weeks, he had done his best to make her as miserable as possible.

Was this some form of reverse psychology-- a way of heaping burning coals on his head by an act of undeserved mercy? Except that his head wasn't burning anymore. It felt fine. Odd, that. He pondered for a moment whether she could have some other dark motive, but dismissed that idea also as ludicrous. Miss Granger was a Griffindor, not a Slytherin. The sort of subtlety and cunning it took to think three moves in advance, or use an act of kindness as part of a sinister plot was foreign to her nature. Her intelligence was all straightforward and rather innocent. And, Griffindor to the last, she was brave.

It took a lot of bravery (or foolhardiness) to approach a wounded animal-- and that was what he had been a few minutes ago. Snape was positive no Slytherin would have come near him in such a dangerous state-- even though he was their Head of House. No one would have wanted to risk his temper, and Snape doubted the idea of doing so would have ever entered their minds. Yet Miss Granger hadn't hesitated. Like the mouse that dared to remove a thorn from the lion's paw, she had come forward to help him.

Snape felt an odd mixture of irritation and warmth. He didn't like the idea of being obligated to someone else, to be indebted to them for their kindness. But he also wasn't used to anyone actually _being_ kind to him-- being good to him without any ulterior motives or any form of patronizing condescension. It was a novel occurrence, and one that he found difficult to understand even as it touched him. But, thinking about it would probably only bring back his headache.He turned his mind to other things, back to the events of the day, although that was probably just as likely to induce another headache as pondering Miss Granger.

What a disastrous day! Hours of sitting in a loud, crowded, stuffy arena; hours of pounding, ear-gouging music in the company of youthful Muggle riffraff; and the indignity, the crushing demoralization, of seeing the Hogwarts team subject to Muggle scorn. Snape had been to deatheater partiesthat hadn't seemed so bad! Had Dumbledore actually known what hell he was sending his Potion's master into when he assigned this task?

Severus had the feeling that the headmaster hadn't known all the particulars. The old man always acted true to character. He had a fondness for jokes, but he was never one to torture people. If he knew exactly what his students and his two staff members had endured, he might be persuaded to intervene and end this pointless exercise. Perhaps if Snape were to use the Pensieve and present his evidence, Dumbledore would change his mind and cancel the school's participation. At the very least, he might assign someone else as Advisor to it and end Snape's ordeal.

The thought was only momentarily pleasant. As much as he _never _wanted to set foot in one of those Muggle hellholes again, getting out of it now would look as though he had run away, as if he had given up in defeat. Everyone would think it was because he just wasn't capable. While Slytherins traditionally never had a problem with running away if it happened to be in their best interest, Snape couldn't see it being in his best interest to look like a failure. He hated being shown up by other people-- especially by those he believed secretly despised him.

He HATED looking inferior, foolish, or inept. All his life he had worked at mastering everything he could, from Potions, Occlumency, and Dueling, to the Dark Arts. The worst moments in his life had centered around public humiliation or defeat. One of the reasons he was now sure that James Potter had gone after him so mercilessly was because Severus, fiercely proud to the soles of his feet, would never give in and acknowledge Potter to be his superior. Snape neither fawned in worship, nor bent in submission, but always remained defiant. He _always_ fought back.

If he walked away now and let someone like Lupin-- James Potter's adoring crony-- take over his position, he would look like a loser. He would look like the loser they all thought he was. It would be just the thing they would expect from him. And those Muggle judges expected it too. They had made no secret of the fact that they assumed he would give up. They had thrown condescending looks and remarks at him as he had sat, miserable with his headache, at the end of the award ceremony. In spite of the sickness he felt from his pounding migraine, Snape had responded with defiant fire.

"Better luck, next time, dear," the Muggle pansy had said, shaking his head in mock sympathy (and patting him maddeningly on the shoulder.) "Perhaps the poor things just need some practice... or a coach who cares."

"Cheer up, Mr. Snape. All teams make mistakes. All _your_ team can do now is improve!"

"But, perhaps some of them should consider another sport, or compete at another level. It's cruel to force them to do what they're obviously not capable of."

Snape had only glared in outrage at some of these remarks. Who did they think they were? It was a towering insult to have mundane creatures like these sniggering at his team. His girls were so far above these pitiful Muggles as far as true worth and potential that it was ridiculous! HIS girls were like royalty stooping to compete with serfs. But the serfs wouldn't know that, would they? They couldn't possibly know what an honor it was to have the Hogwarts team at their Tournament. All they knew was that that they had trounced them. And now they were looking down on them and laughing...

"I dare say you probably won't be at the Cheshire Tournament in two weeks, Mr. Snape. But surely we'll see you next year? Perhaps your team will be ready by then." The blonde Muggle was smirking at him.

Snape lost it at that moment and sealed his miserable fate.

"Never, NEVER sneer at Hogwats students, Madam!" he exploded. "We WILL be at the Cheshire Tournament, and at the Mistlethwaite Tournament, the Topsfield Tournament, and all the other competitions of this season! And MY girls will knock _YOUR _girls right onto their proverbial little bottoms!You can count on that!"

"Such fighting words, sir!" The Muggle's expression was surprised and mocking. "But can you back them up?"

"Just watch me!" he had hissed.

There was no way Snape could back out now. He was trapped.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione stumbled back to her seat blushing furiously. She ignored the little giggles and the smirks the other girls gave her-- though she supposed, philosophically, that it was good to see them laughing at something. Their entire mood after their disastrous performance had been lower than dirt. Even the communal dance hadn't done anything to bring them up.

"You poor thing!" whispered Lucy Prendergast, the Hufflepuff she was sitting with. "If I ever fell on top of Professor Snape, I just know I would die!"

"I'm surprised he didn't kill you," put in one of the Slytherins in the seat behind her.

"Or give you detention," said another. "I stepped on his foot by accident in my second year, and he made me pickle snake eyes. Eww!"

"Did he get free with you?" asked one of the Patils in the seat in front of her. "You know, put his hands where he shouldn't?" There was a wickedly eager gleam on her face. All nearby eyes watched attentively.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Hermione exclaimed in a dangerously loud sputter. She cast an anxious look at their formidable Advisor for fear he might have overheard. But, thankfully, he appeared to be deeply and broodingly lost in thought. She whispered reprovingly in reply.

"Of course not! Get your minds out of the gutter! Professor Snape is a _gentleman. _Besides, I elbowed him right in the gut. I'm sure he was in too much pain to even _think_ of such a thing-- which of course he wouldn't! And he had just recovered from a headache. I only approached him to give him a potion."

"Snape _IS _a headache!" muttered Pamela Crowell, with a nervous glance at her Slytherin teammates, but those teammates didn't seem to want to argue. "He's the reason we did so badly. He jinxed us!"

Dark looks passed over the faces of most of the team. Even the Slytherins didn't challenge those remarks. They obviously felt that their Head of House was somehow responsible for the day's disaster

"I don't know about that," Hermione countered judiciously. "You can't blame all our troubles today on Professor Snape."

A barrage of angry, frustrated comments were hissed at her. The team was in no mood to be either rational, accommodating, or broadminded when it came to Snape.

"Stop making excuses for him! You always stick up for that Old Bat!"

"Snape _hates_ us. He wanted us to fail today!"

"Yeah, he's probably gloating over how awful we were!"

"But that's silly!" Hermione said seriously. "We didn't have to do badly. We should have done a lot better, but we just got nervous. That's all. Snape didn't _make_ us nervous. We allowed ourselves to be. We should have been able to perform in spite of him."

Jerrolyn Sweet gave her a tired and disgusted look. "So _you_ say! I don't think so. And is all this really worth it? I don't even want to continue. I mean, what's the point?"

Glum heads nodded. Dispirited faces registered defeat. Shoulders slumped.

"We stink at this sport, 'Mione," pleaded Caroline Creevey. "We shouldn't be competing in it at all!"

"That's right! This whole thing is a mistake! The Muggles don't like us. All the wizards who know are laughing. Even our Advisor hates us!" Cynthia Moon seemed on the verge of tears.

Miss Sweet glared darkly at the back of Snape's head. "He's probably laughing fit to die."

"I didn't see him laughing Jerry," Hermione put in anxiously. She was beginning to be seriously alarmed at the way her team was taking things. "He had a headache. Look, just give it another chance. Don't give up just because we had a bad day! Things can only get better. I know they will! Maybe even Professor Snape's attitude will improve."

"Oh, man, you're _really_ an optimist!" sneered Padma. "That was Snape whose lap you sat on, not Santa Claus! Maybe falling on top of him unhinged your mind!"

"Hey, maybe she liked it!" smirked Jacqueline Ross, and a chorus of sniggers erupted around her again, nastier sniggers this time. "Maybe that's why she never says anything against him. Tell us Hermione, is it a schoolgirl crush, or just Slytherin envy?"

"Oh, HONESTLY!" she spat. "What is WITH you?" and, ignoring the teasing, turned with as much dignity as she could muster, to stare resolutely straight ahead. It was unfortunate for her that straight ahead gave her an unbroken view of the back of Snape's head. After some of the comments she had just received, it probably wasn't good to be seen looking at him, so she was forced to take refuge in looking out the window.

Hermione realized that the girls were just taking the day's miserable frustrations out on her, but she found herself really irritated. What was wrong with people these days? Hadn't they ever heard of _respect?_ Professor Snape was a Hogwarts teacher, an expert in his field. He deserved to be treated as such. So what if he was a bit snarky? So what if he had a big nose? None of that should have any bearing on how students addressed him, or spoke of him. Yet everybody gave Hermione flack because she continually referred to him as "professor," and called him "sir."

So what if she had fallen onto his lap? It was an _accident _and it was caused Filch's driving! Trust boy-crazy nymphos like Padma and Parvati to make it seem suggestive or lewd. It hadn't been that way at all. The Professor appeared to have tried very hard not to take any liberties, and he had done his best to get her off his lap as swiftly as he could.

Yet it surprised Hermione how gently her surly Potions master had lifted her back to her feet when it was obvious he was angry enough to have thrown her across the bus. And he didn't shout at her either-- only at Filch. Perhaps it was lingering gratitude for her giving him that potion, or maybe a righteous desire to place blame only where blame was due. At any rate it only confirmed to her that Professor Snape was really a gentleman after all, no matter what else he might be. A rude, nasty gentleman...

How irritating that the memory of that embarrassing incident kept popping back into her mind. It had to be the fault of those silly girls poisoning her head with their stupid, suggestive comments! She stared at the moving scenery and tried to dismiss it from her thoughts, but like the elephant you couldn't help thinking of after being told, "Don't think of elephants!" it persistently, maddeningly remained.

Again, and again, she remembered the horrible second of panic when she realized she was going to fall and where she was likely to land. She recalled the impact of her butt hitting bony legs and her elbow plowing into what had to be ribs, and later a stomach. She remembered her mortification at being in such intimate contact with someone who could only be outraged it, and surprisingly, she also remembered warmth. That was the oddest part.

Though Hermione respected Professor Snape, like most students she would never have associated him with the idea of warmth. The Potions master was a cold person, aloof and detached, a wintery individual. With his Slytherin association, he suggested cold-bloodedness like that of lizards or snakes. Who knew he was warm-- physically warm (and somewhat squishy in spite of his spare frame) like everyone else?

_Oh but OF COURSE he would be warm! How silly to imagine otherwise! The man was human after all! _But how disconcerting to actually feel that warmth, and to be close enough to be able to do so. It was incredibly unnerving, and she couldn't shake it from her mind.

Bits of memory persisted, like ghost images behind closed eyes: warmth emanating from a strong, startled body; flailing hands fumbling to find a hold under her arms to lift her; hot breath in her hair as he growled something at Filch; the close deep rumble of his voice. He did have a nice voice, now that she thought of it. A rich sensual voice. And he smelled pleasingly of herbs, spices, and musk. Warm musk.

_Stop! Oh what am I thinking?_ _This is my Potions master-- my teacher! I can't be thinking physical thoughts about a teacher! I don't DO things like that! _Hermione frantically pushed the unsettling thoughts away, a surge of adrenaline finally giving her the ability to do so. Her face felt hot and she hoped nobody was noticing. What strange thoughts. Professor Snape would be shocked, possibly revolted, if he knew she had been thinking them. He would certainly never think in such a way about her!

It had to be because of this stressful, dismal day. It had to be the fear of losing her team to despair. Most of the girls seemed on the verge of quitting, and she honestly didn't know if she could talk them all into giving it another chance. She had promised Professor Dumbledore that she could deliver him a Muggle-style cheerleading team to make the school comply with the Ministry. If the team disbanded, she would have failed him.Hermione hated failure, and she fretted about it until the bus finally pulled into the Hogwarts grounds.

The girls silently reached for their gear as soon as they caught sight of the castle. They were on their feet and ready to bolt before the bus had even stopped. All anyone seemed to want to do was to get to their dormitories as quickly as possible so they could lick their wounds in peace, or perhaps find a sympathetic ear that they could grumble to. Perhaps both.

"I want a word with all of you when we get in," Professor Snape intoned ominously, as the students began to file past. "Assemble in the practice room and wait for me."

Alarmed, wary looks were flashed on tired, dispirited faces. The girls looked confused. What more did old, snarky Snape want of them? Why did he want to speak to them? He had never had anything to do with them before. It had to be something bad, and nobody wanted to hear it, but no student disobeyed the Potions master. The whole tired, downtrodden team trudged into the castle and made their way dolefully to the practice room. They cast themselves listlessly onto the floor, the girl holding their tiny trophy dropping it carelessly with a "thunk." Most of them looked like they wanted nothing more than to go to their beds and sleep.

A few minutes passed, and Professor Snape arrived. He was back to normal in wizard's robes and long, shoulder length hair, and he swept before them to stand glaring with menace in the front of the room. Piercing black eyes demanded their attention. Very shortly, most of the girls were sitting a little straighter. After a few moments of strained silence, they all reluctantly moved to stand. When team was standing at respectful attention before him, Snape finally began to speak.

"That was the most dismal effort I have ever seen in my entire life!" he intoned in a soft, dangerous hiss. "I expected far better! I was under the impression you had actually been _practicing_ all this time. What have you been doing in your practice sessions, preparing for a Gossip Tournament?"

It was like a small bomb had been thrown into the room. Mutinous grumbles erupted from the team and tired, dejected girls bristled in angry outrage. Hermione could hear some ominous muttering.

"What's he on about?"

"We did practice! We really tried!"

"It's not like he _cares_!"

Frowns clouded the girls' faces. Whispers that sounded like, "Nasty Old Git!" And "Gossip Tournament my butt!" flickered in various places. Thankfully for them, Snape didn't seem to have heard these comments, or heard who said them. He just glared implacably down at them in angry, stony disapproval.

"But we got a trophy, sir!" piped up Muriel Watts from Hufflepuff in an aggrieved voice.

Snape laughed. It was a cold, sneering laugh.

"Oh, yes. You actually received a trophy, but for what? _Sixth_ place! It was a JOKE trophy!" His eyes raked over them all before he added in scathing derision, "There were only six teams in your division! Everyone gets a trophy. It's the Muggle way. We came in last!"

The girls sat in stunned silence. The last thing they had expected from Snape was this. Hermione stepped forward.

"But Professor, sir," she began entreatingly, "The whole point of this Competition is to improve Muggle-wizard relations. It's not really important to actually _win_ these Tournaments. We're just supposed to-- "

"_Excuse_ me, Miss Granger," he interrupted imperiously, before pointing at one of the girls. "You, Miss Podmore! Explain the Slytherin point of view for the benefit of all the rest of us. What is the point of any competitive endeavor?"

"To win, sir," the girl said automatically.

"Thank you!"

He turned back to Miss Granger.

"Repeat that for us please, Miss Granger. What is the point of any competitive endeavor?"

"To win, professor," she said, and felt the corners of her mouth beginning to twitch. He was glaring down at her, giving her his best withering stare. It usually took a sustained effort to keep up a resolute expression when he was trying to intimidate her, but right now, however, she suddenly felt like smiling.

"To WIN!" he repeated with a loud sneer, his intimidating scowl trained on the entire group. "Which we did not! And it didn't even look as if we had tried!"

Hermione couldn't contain herself.

"But, Professor, sir! This is a new sport for us! Most of the Muggle teams have been learning this sort of thing for years. We have only had a few months to really work at it. There's a lot of things some of the girls can't do yet. A lot of the girls are only starting out in tumbling--"

Snape held up his hand and Hermione let her quick, eager words trail. His voice was quieter when he spoke.

"I was IN the Judges Box, if you remember. I watched and analyzed all the performances-- including ours. There were enough elements of technical difficulty in your routine to have earned us a possible first place had you done everything you were supposed to, everything you are capable of." He curled his lip and rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You _still _could have achieved either second or third place even _after_ dropping Miss Patil onto her backside, had you regained control." Snape shook his head.

"But you were lazy. You lost all control. You were out of unison, completely off beat, confused and sloppy! If that were truly the best you could do, I wouldn't be wasting my time standing here! But I KNOW what you are capable of doing. I saw it two weeks ago! As far as I am concerned there is no _excuse_ for doing any less!"

He looked at them all sternly.

"This is _Hogwarts_ you are representing, the best Wizarding school in the world! Cheerleading may be a Muggle sport, but if wizards are doing it, IT IS A WIZARD SPORT! I expect us to win! What I do not expect is for us to fall to pieces and dissolve into nerves simply because we're surrounded by Muggles. Do you understand?"

Stunned faces looked up at their Faculty Advisor. If Snape had suddenly changed color and sprouted a few more heads, he couldn't have done more to shock and confuse his audience. Hermione felt an explosion of glee fighting it's way out from within her.

Did she hear right? Did he actually say "us"? Was he somehow, miraculously, identifying himself with the team? How in the world had that happened? She fought hard to keep her expression within bounds. It wouldn't do to laugh and make a fool out of herself... or embarrass him. If he really was starting to care about the team, they might actually have a chance! But she couldn't help smiling at him. Just a tiny smile. She simply couldn't help it.

Snape looked very grim.

"If I am forced to act as Faculty Advisor to this team and give up my cherished free time to this endeavor, it is going to be to a _winning team! _Now, does anyone have anything else to say?"

Hermione beamed at him. She smiled right into his dark, somber black eyes for a minute before squaring hers shoulders and whirling around to face her angry and dejected teammates. The face she showed them was brimming with optimism, and she raised her arms over her head in a gesture of defiance.

"You heard Professor Snape!" she shouted, shaking her fists into the air. "WE'RE GOING TO BE A WINNING TEAM! _WE CAN DO IT! _Come on, let's hear it!"

A halfhearted chorus of "Go Flyers" sounded from the huddled group of girls. More than a few dark looks were thrown her way.

"LET'S HEAR IT!" she shouted more belligerently. "Come on! GO FLYERS! Next time we're going to win! We _can _win! We're good! WE'RE WINNERS! Let's hear it!"

"We're winners!" Came a slightly more spirited chorus.

"LOUDER! COME ON!" she persisted with scolding gusto.

"WE'RE WINNERS!" they shouted back.

"That's right! We'll show them! We're the Hogwarts Flyers! What are we?"

"THE BEST!"

She turned back to Professor Snape and caught him staring at her with a fleeting look of incredulous wonder, as if he had never seen anyone like her before and wasn't even sure of what he was seeing now. Finding that look was like having a rug suddenly pulled out from under her. Professor Snape _never _looked surprised or stunned. He always appeared mercilessly in control, and he never, _ever _showed HER anything other than a stern, disapproving face!

A second later, though, he was back to stiff, dignified gravity, one eyebrow raised and expression immobile. "That's more like it," he said quietly. "Carry on!" and he turned with a graceful swirl and stalked out, leaving a stunned and shell-shocked team to mull over his words in silence.


	9. Smile, Dammit!

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 9: _Smile, Dammit!_**

"No! No, no, no, stop. Stop! You're going to break Miss Patil's leg! You're holding her foot all wrong."

Brows furrowed. Nostrils flared. Resentful cheerleaders bristled as they lowered Padma Patil, their flyer, to the floor. The girls hissed among themselves angrily.

"What does he mean, doing it all wrong?" fumed Jerry Sweet.

"Since when is HE an expert?" Padma looked like a thundercloud.

"What does he know anyway?" came another grumble.

Snape approached swiftly, gliding in his billowing robes like a malevolent bat-- and like a bat, his hearing was apparently excellent.

"What do I know, Miss Ramsbottom? Obviously more than you! Two points from Ravenclaw. You and Miss Sweet are not lifting Miss Patil properly. You are not holding her foot in the correct manner. I shall demonstrate."

The knot of girls rapidly broke apart in sudden, stricken alarm, retreating all directions at his approach. Snape stopped and glared at them in sour, shocked amazement. His face twisted into an outraged grimace of distaste.

"_For the love of all that is magical!"_ he exclaimed scathingly. "I'm NOT going to TOUCH you! Heaven forbid! One of you might pass me something life threatening-- accidentally on purpose, of course..."

The girls eyed each other. It was very clear that many of them would love to do exactly that.

"Observe," Snape snapped his fingers and an athletic shoe appeared in his hand. "This is how you are currently holding Miss Patil's foot." He gripped the underside of the shoe. "Do you see how all the weight is on the fingers, how the wrist is unsupported, and how easy it is to turn it and make the shoe wobble?"

Sixteen pairs of eyes were fixed reluctantly on Snape's long fingered grip on the sneaker. Hermione approached to get a better look.

"This is an excellent way to snap an ankle-- or worse. Now, observe again." He shifted his hand to a different position. "_This _is the proper way to grip the flyer's foot. There is far less wobble in the wrist and the weight is distributed throughout the entire hand. It makes for a more stable, smoother lift."

The faces of the cheerleaders registered visible doubt. It was obvious they didn't think a Potions expert would know anything about lifting flyers-- especially a man who had never heard of cheerleading until weeks ago and who had never done it himself. Such an idea was crazy. Who did he think he was?

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Don't believe me? Ask Miss Granger! _She_ provided me with the instructional literature." He looked at Hermione sharply. "_Cheerleading: A Coach's Guide_, _page 314, 'proper holds in standard lifting procedures.' _Surely you, yourself, have read it!"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "actually I have."

Hermione worked hard to keep her manner positive. Again, she was stunned by how much cheerleading detail Professor Snape had managed to absorb in the few short weeks since he had become their Advisor. Dumbledore had said he was a quick study. He certainly hadn't been kidding!

Professor Snape hadn't just read the books she had given him, he had memorized them-- completely down to chapter headings and page numbers. And Hermione thought _she _had been the only person anal enough to do things like that! Even more impressive was the fact that he understood what he had memorized and knew how to apply the knowledge, which was a skill many with a photographic memory lacked. Hermione looked at the sneaker in Professor Snape's hand and nodded. As usual, he was correct. The girls had been using improper lifting techniques and she hadn't noticed.

"You're right, Professor," she said. "That _is _a more stable grip. We'll all have to switch over."

Outraged huffs and puffs erupted from the team. Girls whispered angrily and nasty comments were uttered. Hermione heard someone hiss, "Suck up!" while her nearest neighbor gave her a shove. She ignored it. She had to. As Captain, she was the leader and the team was her responsibility. She had to be strong enough to bear with them-- no matter how angry they were.

"We _can't _switch over!" somebody wailed.

"It's too _hard _to change now!" echoed another.

"No it isn't," she countered brightly. "It's just a _little_ change, and it will make us better! We'll nail it by tomorrow, I just know it! C'mon, let's give it a try!"

"But we're USED to doing it this way!"

Some of the girls were pouting belligerently. The team wasn't giving in without a fight. Professor Snape stepped in at that moment to lash them all with a dose of verbal vitriol.

"I don't care what you are used to! We are striving for excellence, not mediocrity! Points are deducted at Competition for improper form, and there is a safety issue involved as well. Cheerleaders have DIED from aerial falls! The LAST thing I want to have to do is to explain to one of your parents why their daughter died under my care somewhere in the wilds of Muggle Britain! Now PRACTICE!"

He shoved the athletic shoe at Feona Larivee, the closest cheerleader to him. She cowered. "Show me the proper form," he ordered.

The little Hufflepuff looked appealingly at Hermione, and the Team Captain smiled in encouragement, making her hand grip an imaginary shoe where the younger girl could see it. Miss Larivee's fingers trembled as she held the shoe, but she did it right.

"Good!" he said. "Pass it to the next person. We will practice correct form with the shoe, and then go back to stunting. You too, Miss Granger." He gave her a stern, snide, sidelong glance. "You should have caught the error in the first place!"

Hermione took a deep breath, raised her chin, and joined the other girls in line. It seemed extra hard to get her team through practice today, but she was going to do it. She just had to be strong...

Ever since Competition, Professor Snape had gone out of his way to be the entire team's _Pain in the Butt_. He had shone up at the very next practice, dark and dour, clipboard in hand, and had sat down like a roosting vulture to watch them. It was hard enough to practice under his piercing black eyes, but the situation worsened considerably when it became clear that he intended to do far more than just observe.

He picked up every mistake, every error, and let them know it in censorious tones. He noticed bent arms and improper hand placement. If their timing was off, he saw it. He told them exactly what was wrong with their tumbling runs, and what they should do to improve their stunting. Very soon, he was putting them through drills-- making them repeat things over and over to get them up to his level of satisfaction.

The girls had not been receptive. Barely thirty minutes into this, several of them had announced they were quitting, but Snape wouldn't let them do that. He zapped the door locked to keep them from leaving.

"Quitting is not an option. I do not allow it," he had said implacably. "Now, get back into formation!"

They had smoldered for another hour in rising frustration, and after practice, the whole team had stormed in fury up to Dumbledore's office. Fifteen passionate voices poured out their grievances to the Headmaster, but they received a shocking surprise. As it turned out, quitting really _wasn't _an option. Apparently they had signed a contract...

Howls of outrage had sounded from the office. Heated words were shouted. CONTRACT? Since when had they signed a _contract? _All they had done was to put their names on a roster! Accusing fingers pointed at Hermione Granger. Had she known about this?

Hermione shook her head, and gave them her best "search me" look. She _had_ suspected something-- but she wasn't going to tell them that! At this point it was best to be prudent. She tried to look as innocent as possible and told them with a rueful, mystified shrug that she was in the same awful boat that they were.

Dumbledore was sympathetic to them-- pleasantly so, but he wouldn't even think about letting anyone quit. They had signed a contract, pledged their time and talents to help their school. They would simply have to see it through. It was a matter of honor, after all-- a matter of responsibility.

The girls then demanded a different Advisor, but the Headmaster wouldn't budge there either.

"I have every confidence in Professor Snape," he said in his mild,gentle manner. "I am sure he is doing the best job that he can and is only acting in the best interests of the team."

"But he's driving us crazy!"

"He won't leave us alone!"

"You have to make him stop. We can't take it anymore!"

"Please, Professor!" begged Caroline Creevey. "Tell him to stop coming to our practices!"

Dumbledore's face was cheerfully inscrutable. "Oh but I couldn't do _that_, Miss Creevey. I assigned him the Advisor's job. I can't then tell him how to _do_ that job! It wouldn't be fair. I would be a very poor sort of Headmaster if I gave my teachers tasks and then interfered with their completion. I'm afraid it is entirely out of my hands."

The girls had stared at him in shocked disbelief. They had been so sure the Headmaster would help them. Dumbledore's smile was kind and fatherly.

"Professor Snape is a very capable teacher," he said. "His methods can be rather... _intense_... at times, but he never fails to get top results. I suggest that you trust him-- and trust me as well. It really would be the best course of action to take at this point... since you haven't any _other _choice."

The Headmaster made no further comment as pandemonium resumed. He sat placidly in his comfortable chair, eyes twinkling, long fingers laced in front of him, and waited patiently while the storm raged in his office. He actually seemed to find it entertaining. The girls begged and pleaded, but to no avail. They squawked and harangued, but received only a genial head shake in reply. The team finally flounced out, slammed the door behind them, and stamped off to pursue other action.

Owls flapped their way across the length and breadth of Britain. Messages flew back from concerned, angry parents. But, again, Dumbledore refused to yield. He was following a Ministry directive-- a very _important _directive. The girls' efforts were vitally necessary in keeping the school Ministry-compliant. Cooperation with the Ministry was essential these days in order to keep up the school's accreditation. There was always the concern of losing funding...

"That's a hill of beans, and you know it!" Mr. Ramsbottom was heard to have remarked on a heated visit to the school. "Hogwarts in the only magical school in Britain! How can it lose its accreditation? And as for funding, don't we pay tuition?"

"Oh, you most certainly do," Dumbledore had answered serenely. "And I'm sure you are very, _very_ happy that the Ministry's contributions keep them so low. Magical schools are terribly expensive to run, you know. Without all that extra funding, tuition might have to be doubled... or tripled..."

Mr. Ramsbottom, and all the other parents, caved in to the inevitable. The girls were stuck.

Practices continued-- five, sometimes six days a week-- and the team viewed them as torture sessions in a long, lost cellar of Hell. Professor Snape worked them like a tyrant. He gave them strengthening and limbering exercises. He gave them exercises for balance. The entire team was often made to hold a pose-- a cheering motion, or part of a stunt routine for minutes at a time until their limbs ached with fatigue and they shook with the effort. He made them do things again and again, over and over-- criticizing them constantly and bombarding them with sarcasm.

Hermione found it as hard as the rest of the girls, but she realized the situation actually had its benefits. She had formed this team. It was she who had brought them together, taught, inspired, and motivated them. She had given them a sense of identity-- leading them by example, and by her own type of boundless enthusiasm. But as captain and coach, Hermione knew she had limitations.

The Hogwarts Flyers had learned how to cheer because they had wanted to. It was _fun._ Cheerleading was something new and novel-- and it was somewhat glamorous as well. The girls practiced because that was what athletes did, and Hermione had worked hard to fashion them into a real team.

But when the going became tough, the cohesion had broken down. Hermione could inspire and encourage, but she couldn't instill discipline. She was a soft coach, and there were times when an athletic team needed more. It took toughness to bring out that extra ounce of effort, a touch of harshness to drive a team to perfection. Hermione knew she didn't have it in her to impose that harshness. She couldn't push her team with that type of relentless discipline. She could endure it but never dish it out.

Severus Snape could. The Potions master demanded the best from his students. Potion making was an exacting science-- involving memorization, strict attention to detail, and careful, precise observation. A mishap with a cauldron could kill, but there had been no deaths from potions accidents while Professor Snape taught the subject. No one goofed off or stepped out of line in _his_ class. And if any did (Hermione could still recall Snape's murderous fury when Harry had exploded a firework in second year) they never did so again.

Students paid attention in Potions because they had to. They worked diligently and carefully because he made them do so. Homework was always done-- unwillingly, perhaps-- but it _was _done. And students gave it their best effort because they couldn't do anything else.

And now Snape was using his legendary teaching methods on their team. He was demanding perfection-- drilling it into them with all the force of his stern, uncompromising personality. It was as if they were recruits at a military Boot Camp and he was their Drill Sergeant. Soldiers shuddered to recall their Boot days, but acknowledged that the discipline was necessary. Many professional coaches rivaled Drill Sergeants in their rigorous training methods. It was what took raw talent and turned it into winning teams.

The Professor wanted them to win and he was going to ride them hard until he made them do it. With that sort of iron determination and Slytherin drive, there _was_ a chance he could succeed. But Hermione knew it would take more than that. The team had no idea how fortunate they were to have their grim Advisor push them as hard as he was. All they were going to see was that it wasn't fun anymore, and they might lose heart.

A good coach rewarded a team as well as disciplined it. Professor Snape was a hard taskmaster-- just the sort of Drill Sergeant that would make them shed their laziness and work to their potential, but he wasn't gifted with the ability to encourage and inspire. _Hermione_ _was the one who would have to do that!_ She would have to be the counterbalance. No matter how bad Snape was, she had to see them through it, bear with it, smile-- and somehow make them smile.

It was a daunting task, but Hermione set her teeth to do it. No matter what Snape made them do, no matter how much he sneered, criticized, or bullied them, she kept up a buoyant, positive attitude. She became a sort of go-between, supporting both the Professor and the girls. She encouraged them to keep up, cheering them on to go that extra mile-- no matter how tired they were and no matter how angry they were. No matter how much they resented her for it.

And they did resent her. Every time Hermione rallied them when Snape found fault with everything they did, or kept them working to exhaustion, they turned angry looks upon her. They whispered nasty comments just loud enough for her to hear it. They shunned her outside of practice and incited others to do the same. Fifteen girls who had once been her friends now seemed to actually hate her. But yet, in the midst of every tense, difficult moment, they looked to her first.

Hermione did her best to be there for them, bearing with Professor Snape when he seemed to be at his sarcastic worst-- absorbing it, being their shield, turning his harsh criticism into something softer and easier to take. And she let them take their frustration out on her. If that was what it took to see the team through, she would do it. She was strong enough, after all. She could take it.

Yet there were times she was so tired after a long day of study and practice, that it was all she could do to stumble up to her room and crash onto her bed. There were times her face actually hurt from having been forced into smiles she didn't feel like giving. And there were times she cried into her pillow-- grateful that the Head Girl's room was a single one so that no one could see her weakness.

She hoped that the team understood and appreciated what she was doing even if they wouldn't let her see it. And as the days went by, Hermione often caught Professor Snape gazing at her in unguarded moments with that same odd look she had been surprised to see that day after competition. It was a puzzled look-- a pensive, uncomprehending look as if he had never actually seen her before.

That glance would always come after she had galvanized her team after one of his biting salvos. There would be questions hovering behind his cold black eyes each time she smiled in the face of his criticism, or turned about to brave the venom of her team. He seemed continually surprised that she could take the pressure, and all the verbal abuse, and continue to... _smile._ It even looked like he was trying to push her just a little too far, always being newly surprised when she continually stood her ground.

Hermione met him strength for strength, determination for determination, guts for guts. She never wavered-- at least not where he could see it, and one day she was utterly surprised to see a flash of something new in those Basilisk eyes-- a flash of _respect._ It had come at a time when she had been on the verge of crumbling, weary beyond words, and so lonely from lack of appreciation that she was at the point of tears. Seeing that look had made all the difference.

This was what she had wanted for eight long years! Professor Snape had been the teacher she could never please-- the master who never noticed her hand in the air, or praised her for her brilliance. She had always wanted him to acknowledge her, to notice her, and now, finally, he was doing so-- even if unwillingly. A warm flame lit up within her. She felt infused with new strength. The burden on her shoulders seemed to lift a little, and her task seemed easier to bear.

The Professor barked out another imperious order at the team and she shouted encouragingly for them all to follow. That look was still hovering in his eyes. She doubted anyone else saw it, but she knew it was there. Respect from professor Snape... Even Slytherins had to earn that. She raised her chin, looked back at him, and smiled.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Ah, Severus! How are you coming along with our Cheerleading team?"

Dumbledore's mild, friendly voice broke into Snape's reverie. He set down his morning coffee with an air of studied nonchalance and eyed his Headmaster with subtle warning.

_That's my team now, Albus. MINE. __If you think to interfere, just because_ a _few of them are bellyaching_, _think again!_

"Fine," he replied casually. He was careful not to draw the attention of the other teachers. No need for them to poke their noses where they didn't belong... Snape noticed Dumbledore's eyes twinkling.

"And how did they do at their Tournament?"

Quite a few faces at the Head Table looked up at the word "tournament," and Snape felt like growling. He could have sworn the old man was baiting him. He carefully held his composure.

_Never play games with a Slytherin. We always win._

"Not bad, Albus, for their first attempt. They did receive a trophy."

"A trophy!" exclaimed Sinistra. "That sounds good!"

"Wonderful!" said Lupin.

Snape did his very best to look modest.

"Did they win First Place?" asked an interested Vector.

"Of _course_ not," he drawled negligently, shrugging slightly as though it really wasn't important. "This was their _first _Competition, after all. No one would expect them to be number one right away!"

_But they are GOING to be number one very soon! Or I'll know the reason why._

"Wa' did they win?" That was Hagrid.

"Sixth," Snape admitted, before adding, "Out of a total of twenty-seven teams."

_Those teams had been broken up into divisions, but no need for them to know that..._

"Sixth out of twenty-seven! That's very, very good! Especially for our first try at Muggle games." Flitwick piped. "You must be proud!"

Snape allowed himself to smirk ever so slightly. "It's only Muggle sport, Filius. But, no reason for our school not to make a proper showing. They did well enough, and I'm sure they will only become better. They're improving every day." He pointedly ignored Dumbledore's amused expression. The Headmaster had started this whole thing, but HE was going to finish it!

The team _was_ getting better, but they were doing so grudgingly. They didn't seem to want to reach their potential. Some would rather give up than gear down and work harder. Well, too bad for them! He, Severus Snape, was going to make them into a winners whether they wanted it or not. This was a matter of honor. _The Hogwarts Flyers were going to get a First Place trophy if he had to personally drag each and every one of them kicking and screaming up to the podium to receive it!_

It was frustrating beyond belief. Here he was, giving them hours and hours of his precious free time, and the silly things resisted him at every turn! They were sullen. They were rebellious. They grumbled, sulked, and pouted. That was better, perhaps, than if the wretched girls cowered and cried, but not much!

What was the matter with them? They were a sports team. Didn't they want to win? Where was their drive? Those girls should have been toiling like house-elves to get ready for the next competition. All of them should have been devoting themselves to the most strenuous practice possible. That was what the _Quiddich_ teams did. And they all should have been grateful for the help he was giving them.

_But were they? Noooo!_ After only one failure, and barely an hour into the first practice, most of them wanted to quit. How pathetic! Well, that wasn't going to happen. NONE of them were going to quit! They were HIS team now, and he wasn't going to allow it. Dumbledore had made the fateful decision to assign them to him-- which meant that if they quit, he failed. He _wasn't_ about to fail!

Snape was a Slytherin, and he believed passionately in the virtue of success. All Slytherins believed in achievement. They all wanted to win, and that took perseverance, determination, and very hard work. Oh, there were those who used shortcuts-- back stabbing, toadying, influence peddling, and the like. But those methods just wouldn't work with a sports team. Athletes didn't win by beauty, connections, or bribes. And cheating was the Cardinal Sin in the athletic world! It simply wasn't _sporting_...

To succeed in sports took more than just talent. It took practice, discipline, and guts. The Hogwarts Flyers had talent, but they didn't have the discipline or nerve to perform under pressure, and he was going to change that. By the time he was through with them, a Tournament would seem like a tea party! Those girls needed to be strong and tough so they could look the judges right in the face, smile with confidence, and deliver a perfect, polished performance. They were never going to be able to do that if he was soft on them.

Success didn't come without a price. You worked diligently, followed orders, corrected your mistakes, and never gave up. If success meant studying all night, you did that. If you missed out on fun, so be it. To excel at a physical discipline, you honed your reflexes and mastered your body. That was just the way it was.

Snape could still remember the hell he endured learning defense. He had pushed himself as hard as he could, suffering any pain involved, until his mind and body had become conditioned to work together with the lifesaving, split second timing that made all the difference in a duel. If he could do that, these girls had no excuse. He had been their age when he had been in training. What he had done, they could do. And they had an advantage that he had lacked. They had Miss Granger.

Hermione Granger had become an object of wonder to Snape, a complete revelation. He had never met a student like her. She was a dynamo, a powerhouse, a never flagging source of enthusiasm and drive. She walked into practice with a bounce and a smile, and when practice ended, the smile was still there. At first he had found it irritating. She was always so positive, so bright, so... cheerful.

No one had the right to be THAT cheerful in his presence-- especially when HE was irritated! Flitwick did that to him all the time, and it drove him crazy. Whenever Snape was snide and negative, the little Charms teacher seemed to go out of his way to be extra cheery. It was as though he had set himself up to be a counterweight to Severus for the benefit of everyone else. It really was maddening.

But the funny thing was, Snape _liked _Filius. He actually preferred his company over the other staff, and he had no idea why. Perhaps it was only because Flitwick was an excellent chess player, or maybe because he didn't take offense at Snape's sarcasm, or eye him as potentially dangerous. If Severus could have trusted him around the girls, he might have brought him along for some bearably irritating moral support. How could he both like _and_ dislike him at the same time? He must be going barmy.

At first Snape sought to wipe the smile off the saucy little Gryffindor's face. Such cheerfulness seemed disrespectful. It was almost insulting how the girl would get out in front, repeat his orders, and then urge and exhort her team to follow. Why did she have to do that? What was she, some sort of perverse eager beaver? Always, _always_ she was in his way, and in his face, with her bright, bubbly enthusiasm. He found himself addressing the bulk of his snidest, most poisonous criticism at her.

But she always took it, always obeyed, and never complained. She took everything he threw at her, the worst he could dish out. It baffled him how someone he KNEW was sensitive to criticism could continue to carry on in the face of it with such a persistent smile. She never flinched if he shouted, never cowered if he stood over her, never grumbled or pouted over anything he demanded. Was she some sort of malevolent pixie sent up from the Pit to drive him mad?

But it wasn't long before Severus began to be actually glad that he had not been able to make her crumble. It began to dawn on him what she was doing, and how essential it was. It also occurred to him that without her he wouldn't have been able to make even half the progress with the team as he had.

The girls needed this discipline. They were lazy and complacent-- only wanting to work when it was fun. Severus had to be tough on them to stamp out that laziness. He didn't believe in coddling. But the team wasn't responding properly. They resisted everything he was trying to do. How had Miss Granger had made a team out of these whiny, weepy weaklings in the first place? They either sulked on one the hand or fell to pieces on the other. They had no will or confidence.

Only Miss Granger seemed to be keeping them going-- _by sheer, stubborn will_. If they said, "we can't!" she would shout, "we can!" She was their tower of strength, their shield. She took the sting out of his harsh commands, being the conduit and filter through whom they flowed. Whenever necessary, she put herself out in front to lead by example, cheerfully absorbing, or ignoring, his sarcasm. The team scowled whenever she did that, but they followed her far more willingly that they ever followed him.

Snape couldn't help a tiny pang of frustrated anxiety. The next Tournament was in barely a week. How was he going to galvanize these girls into a winning team if they didn't cooperate with him? The specter of failure hovered chillingly in his mind, but he banished it sternly into the shadows. He wasn't going to fail! Success HAD to be possible! But how was he going to do it?

There seemed to be an essential truth, some subtle point he was missing. Though he had never managed a sports team, he thought his Quiddich experience would help him. How hard could it be? But maybe his problem was that he was dealing with females, or perhaps it had to do with the nature of cheerleading itself. After all, a cheering team didn't perform the same function as a Quiddich team. Not at all.

Cheerleaders didn't engage in the traditional athletic "battle." The whole point of a cheering routine was not to make teams lose, but to encourage them to win. They didn't "fight." Fighting was negative and what cheerleaders did was positive. They raised other teams spirits, urged _them_ to fight. It wasn't just the perfection of the jumps and stunts that made up winning a routine, it was the positive manner in which that perfection was delivered. A team had to be aggressively joyful. They had to appear contagiously happy.

This was the problem-- Severus had approached his team like a Quiddich coach. The angrier one made a Quiddich team, the harder they played, but that didn't seem to work with cheerleaders. It presented him with a conundrum. In order for them to win at a Competition they had to be perfect, but the discipline involved in making them perfect quenched the very attitude they needed to win. Making them perfect was making them hate it, but in order to be perfect they had to _like _it. Muggles called this a _Catch-22._

Hermione Granger appeared to be the key. Only she, out of all the girls seemed to understand. She saw the need for the discipline he was drilling into them, and was working even harder than he was to help them take it. Snape felt a moment of amazement. What incredible strength she must have to keep up that cheerful attitude while not only he, but the rest of the team, drowned her with negative.

But as he began watching her more closely, he could see signs of the strain she was under, the supreme effort she was making to hide her emotions for the good of the team. Again, Snape was impressed. That was the sort of tough determination Slytherins admired. Could it be possible she shared the same drive to win that he did? He had always known she was intelligent, and no one could have survived what she did in the war and not be strong, but this enduring energy... this long-suffering force of will... this conquering strength without bitterness... Severus knew he didn't have strength like this.

And she had the right idea. If Snape was going to succeed with this team, he would have to tear a page out of her book and be encouraging as well as tough. But how was he going to do that? Cheerfulness wasn't part of his nature. Even as a child, he had been uncommonly serious. He had no idea how to attempt a more positive attitude, but he knew he would have to do something-- and soon. But what?

If only he could get the team to respect and obey him without being so afraid of him! That was the biggest problem. And there had to be ways he could reward the girls, to compensate them for all the hard work he was putting them through. There also had to be a way of showing Miss Granger some appreciation without making himself look soft. All it would take was some Slytherin cunning and subtlety. He wanted to win, and there HAD to be a way! He knew he would find it...

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"All right. We'll start with the chant. Loud and with feeling! Get into formation!"

The girls stepped into formation for the chant portion of their routine. They moved quickly, and less grudgingly than before, but it was far from the sparky attitude they should have had. The team moved in precision, they shouted their chant in perfect unison. Bodies were tight. Arms were straight. Hermione was proud of the progress they had made, but she knew they still had a long way to go.

Attitudes had thankfully improved since Snape had stepped forward as their private torturer. Backed into a corner and forced into rigorous training, the girls had discovered that they could actually survive it. They hated it, and they definitely let Hermione know that, but as the days went by, even their attitude towards her as the team scapegoat and traitor had changed a bit for the better.

Surprisingly, that seemed to be the Professor's doing. Although he never wavered from the hard discipline he expected to instill in them, he found ways to somehow lessen their burden-- without ever directly seeming to do so. Hermione really had to give him credit. He was trying in his own way to show them all that he wasn't actually their enemy-- that like it or not, they were part of HIS team.

All the girls were amazed to discover the strange, unexpected benefits of having Snape as their Advisor. The Patil sisters, who had been given detention by Professor McGonagall, suddenly discovered their detentions reassigned to Professor Snape, who only made them do their homework. Feona Larivee, struggling with Arithmancy, found she now had a Slytherin study-buddy to help her, one who found Arithmancy fun...

Cheerleaders who were obsessing over the coming O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T.'s found no conflict between study and practice time. Special quiet areas had been assigned them outside of their House Common Rooms, and whatever materials they needed were easily procured. The whole team also had preferred status with the Librarian. To Hermione's delight, she never had to wait in line for a book anymore, and no book was ever unavailable for her. Even if a volume she wanted had been checked out, within an hour it would suddenly, inexplicably, be in her hands.

Nutritious snacks appeared for them when they were studying. Sleeping draughts were delivered if they were up too late. Lost or broken equipment was taken care of. When Amanda Marsh lost a lens out of her telescope, a new lens showed up in time for Astronomy class. And when Cindy Moon broke the tip off her wand, she received special permission to go toOlivander's to have it fixed.

No one laughed at them anymore. Professor Snape might hassle them every chance he got, but no one else seemed to be allowed to do so. There were no more jokes around the school about their unbecoming "Muggle Fixation." Not only did the entire team appear to have been adopted as honorary Slytherins, but the girls seemed to have acquired an entire House of allies and watchful bodyguards.

If a cheerleader tripped in the hallway, a Slytherin would rush to catch them. If Peeves was dropping dung-bombs, Slytherins would make sure no team member was hit. If a cheerleader was receiving unwanted male attention, it would be a Slytherin who would reeducate the boy in question. It was weird beyond belief.

Snape didn't give out any extra points, but he also didn't favor the four Slytherin girls over the rest of the team-- and those girls didn't like that. They had been among the most cooperative in the beginning, but had become some of the least cooperative now. Today they were spoiling for a fight.

"Smile!" he shouted. "You look like pole-bearers at a funeral! Cheerleaders are supposed to spread CHEER, not woe. Anyone you were trying to cheer up would die on the spot!"

Miserable looks flashed at him.

"I said SMILE!"

A few halfhearted, mechanical grimaces appeared. Most of the girls looked tense and tired.

"How pathetic! What's the matter with you! This is CHEERLEADING not magical brain surgery! Even a moron can smile. _How hard can it be for you!"_

The Slytherin girls lost it at that moment. Perhaps it was the reference to morons...

"Well, you're not making it easy!" sputtered Miss Podmore. "You keep shouting at us!"

"Yeah!" echoed Miss Brockelhurst. "We never see YOU smile!... Sir!"

The "sir" was added in nervous haste as their Head of House advanced upon them menacingly. Angry though they were, the Slytherins cowered a bit as he approached. They obviously knew they had gone too far.

Snape stalked closer, stopped barely a foot away from them, and then paused dramatically before twisting his face into a truly gruesome, crooked-toothed smile. The team shivered. Perversely, Hermione found it was all she could do to keep from bursting out laughing-- from shock if nothing else. She dearly wished she had a camera.

"A point will be deducted from Slytherin House... for each of you!" he hissed through his frightful grimace. "I do NOT take cheek-- even from my own House!"

All the girls looked stunned. Snape had taken points from Slytherin! Was the world possibly ending?

"Now, let's take it from the top, and _smile_ this time. I want to see some TEETH! If you can smile at me, you can do it in front of a whole rabid Muggle horde at a _Cheerleading Dark Revel_!"

The girls tried to smile-- tense, wooden smiles. Sixteen sets of white teeth flashed on sixteen nervous faces. It wasn't an encouraging sight. Snape threw up his hands and growled in exasperation.

"_Oh, for Merlin's sweet SAKE!" _he shouted and pulled out his wand. Some of the girls flinched, but their fearsome Advisor, danger flashing from his incensed black eyes, didn't point his wand at them. Instead, with a belligerent, challenging expression, he turned the tip of the wand upon... himself.

Suddenly, before their dazed, uncomprehending eyes, the entire team had a clear picture of Severus Snape-- the most feared master at Hogwarts-- standing before them clad in a green lace dress and a hat with a vulture on top of it! The hilarious image lasted only a second, but everyone saw it. And everyone, for that second, forgot to be afraid.

"SMILE, DAMMIT!"

The voice was a snide, thunderous snarl, and the face from which it came was menacing, but the startled girls on the receiving end brightened. _What in the world had they just seen? _Whatever it was, it was funny! It was worth a smile. Who could have thought old Snarky Snape would do something like that...

Hermione beamed at the Professor. She felt like crying-- or giving him a hug. That was the most unselfish thing she had ever seen him do. And she knew what it must have cost him to do it. That effort HAD to be appreciated. It had to work! She turned to her teammates and blasted a smile at them.

"COME ON! Let's see some spirit! We're Cheerleaders! Come on! SMILE!"

This time the cheerleaders smiled back at her. They smiled at Professor Snape too. All of them moved back into formation and began their chant with bright faces and sparkling eyes.

WE'RE THE TEAM THAT CAN'T BE BEAT!

**FLYERS! YOU KNOW IT**!

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"So, Severus," Lupin began conversationally, catching up on him in the hall. "I hear there was a Bogart in the practice room the other day."

Snape favored him with a disdainful look. Why did Lupin always call him by his first name, as if they were friends? They weren't friends. They were old enemies, or former enemies, or mutually distrustful allies-- anything but friends. Why should Snape be friendly with someone who despised him?

He _had_ to bring up that Bogart incident, had to get a bit more mileage from Longbottom's moment of glory. So he thought to have a laugh, did he? Well, the joke was on him-- because this time Snape didn't really care. He had only done what he had to do. It was the Slytherin way. Slytherins did what was necessary to win, and shrugged off any pain or inconvenience as the price of success. How could a werewolf understand?

"Indeed... _Lupin,_" he emphasized the surname pointedly. "One finds Bogarts in many interesting places at this school. It is a hazard of Wizarding life. Of course... _Lupin_... Being the our Defense expert, you are as aware as I am of their usefulness as a teaching tool. No witch or wizard can reach their true potential without first mastering their fears-- and themselves."

He expected laughter, or that quiet smirk of innuendo that seemed to be Lupin's trademark expression around him. But, for some reason, there wasn't any. The werewolf gazed at him in almost surprise, and if Snape didn't know better, respect. _Respect? _No, that couldn't be. Lupin still saw Snape as the loser his friends' had tormented. If Lupin ever _were _to respect him, it surely wouldn't be for this...

"You're right, Snape. Facing and mastering our darkest fears is the key to personal growth and greatness. And it's one of the keys to fighting the Dark Arts. But then of course, you already know that."

"Of course," Snape answered automatically. What was Lupin getting at? What did this have to do with the Dark Arts? And did Lupin just call him _Snape?_ That had to have been an accident. He eyed the man oddly and moved off in graceful dignity. _Werewolves. Who knows how their minds work..._


	10. Forward into Battle

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 10: _Forward into Battle_**

On the morning of the next Competition, the team assembled in the practice room clad in their matching black warm-up suits, wigs carefully sewn on, bags in hand. Professor Snape joined them exactly on time, immaculate in his Muggle disguise.

Hermione was suddenly struck by his appearance. His hawk-nosed face looked so different without its obscuring curtain of greasy black hair, and he looked far less threatening without those billowing black robes. She was surprisingly conscious of the fact that he wasn't actually _ugly _as everyone jokingly said. Not at all. He was homely, yes, but in a fascinatingly way. She wondered if anyone else had ever noticed that, or if they had, if they had told him so... The professor must have caught her gazing at him with prolonged intentness because he turned and spoke to her sharply.

"Miss Granger. Which of the girls secured your wig?"

Hermione hesitated.

"I did, sir," Pamela Crowell volunteered.

Snape glided over to stare down at her intimidatingly. "If it comes loose, you will have detention," he purred softly. "I have a large vat of ageing newt eyes that should have reached just the right degree of ripeness by now. It will be your job to liquify them. The process takes hours..."

"Yes sir!" The Ravenclaw sixth year looked a little green.

"Stop smirking, Miss Thornton. It will be your job next tournament. By that time the dragon pus will need rendering for fermentation..."

All of the Slytherins schooled their features carefully.

The professor gazed at them all for a few seconds in his usual stern gravity. The entire team came to attention.

"As we prepare again to enter Muggle territory, I want all of you to remember who we are and what we stand for. We are _wizard folk, _mages, and we represent Hogwarts, the best wizarding school in the world. Ours is a noble tradition." He paused to let his obsidian eyes bore into each of them.

"There is no reason, _no reason whatsoever, _to be intimidated by Muggles-- no matter how many there are or how bizarrely they are behaving. WE are superior and every Muggle team we encounter will learn to respect us. We are going into battle today, and we are going to WIN."

"You are NOT the same team you were two weeks ago. You have become strong and disciplined, and as such you have an advantage. Those who have seen you before will underestimate you, and will not expect the performance you will deliver today. They will be complacent and off their guard. The teams who perform before you may not try as hard. Those who come after you may falter from nerves. _Exploit this_ and we shall finish in the top three, if not the number one spot! None of those Muggles will ever sneer at us again!"

The girls looked at each other. _Muggles had sneered at them? _No wonder Snape had worked them so hard! The Slytherins stood up straighter and flashed flinty, determined looks at their Head of House. _No one sneered at Hogwarts... NO ONE! _Slytherin honor was at stake...

"We're going to win, sir!" said Hermione quietly.

"Good," he said with a curt nod. "Let's go!" and he began to lead the team out.

"Oh, excuse me, Professor!" Hermione interrupted, and Snape paused, his expression forbiddingly cautious. "Could I have a minute?"

She was afraid he wouldn't talk to her. Normally, Snape just told students to be quiet. But this time the professor paused for a moment and waved the other students ahead. The flash of respect for her that had recently taken up residence in his eyes seemed to be leading him to consider her words as possibly important. Hermione felt warm with appreciation, and a little extra nervous.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Er... I have something for you," she said a little awkwardly, and pulled out a small plastic package which her Adviser eyed dubiously. "It's something for your ears, sir. I know the music is... um... a bit loud... and you can't use a silencing charm because you aren't supposed to use magic...but these Muggle ear protectors really work!"

When Snape made no immediate response, she opened the package and took out one of the little yellow ear cushions and began to demonstrate its use for her teacher. "They're made of soft plastic. You roll them in your fingers to make them compress, and then they expand after you put them in your ears. They block out the worst of the noise. A lot of Muggles use them."

Snape was still quiet, but his expression had changed. He reached out to take the package from her hand in a slow, stunned way, and actually stared bug-eyed at the little pieces of plastic as if they were the Crown Jewels, the map to Shangrila, or the Elixer of life. And then he looked at her in absolute shocked disbelief that she would actually give them to him.

What really set Hermione back was the gratitude that glimmered underneath his amazement. Never had she thought she would see Professor Snape look grateful. Even when she had offered him the headache potion, he hadn't looked like this. If she didn't know better, he actually appeared as though he were ready to hug or kiss her! That thought made her instantly blush.

Kiss her? Oh, honestly! Professor Snape wouldn't really want to do that! Not even for a moment. _Would he? _But how ridiculous! What in the world had put such an idea into her head?

And yet his eyes had locked directly onto her face, and had focused themselves exactly on her mouth, her lips, and had stayed there-- as if he was really thinking about kissing her. It had been a fierce, hungry, speculative look, a look in which the flash of gratitude she had seen had been suddenly relaced with something else. She blushed again. _Those eyes... _Those deep, black, penetrating eyes...

Oh, she had to have imagined it! She had to have misread that look. Obviously she had blown something perfectly innocent all out of proportion. That _had _to be! But why? Was it because, only minutes before, she had been admiring his looks? She really aught to have known better. Professor Snape was her TEACHER. She shouldn't be thinking about whether or not she found him attractive... _Did she actually just think about Snape as attractive? _Suddenly, Hermione found herself wondering what it would have been like if he HAD kissed her, and she blushed again.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus ushered his charges out of the castle and over to the waiting black bus, still in a euphoric mental haze. Muggle ear protectors! Who would have thought? These would have been an answer to his prayers-- had he actually said any! (Praying had been the one nervous preparation he _hadn't _done, and he had done just about everything else.) He had been seriously dreading this trip and all it contained, and had wondered more than once in the last twenty-four hours how he was ever going to get through it.

The first Competition, he had been unprepared. He had gone into that hellish Muggle arena completely innocent and blind. He knew what horrors to expect now, and that made it far worse. A torture victim would find it extremely difficult to boldly walk back into the chamber and ask for still more. But that was exactly what he had to do. Severus had sensitive ears, and he was unfortunately subject to headaches-- _something he was glad his students didn't know about..._ Only his fierce Slytherin pride had gotten him up and ready that morning.

It's only a little pain... _I can endure pain. _So what if it's tedious? _Tedium is a teacher's lot. _It's just a few hours association with rude, insulting Muggles... _Compared to those stupid Deatheaters I had to hang around last year, they are nothing!_ It's only a short ride with that crazy Custodian at the wheel... _This time_ _I'll hex him! _And it wasn't as if he was new to torture. As a deatheater, he had taken countless "medicinal" hits of the Cruciatus from that insufferably moody Dark lord. Surely he could survive a day in a loud Muggle mad house. But he wasn't looking forward to it.

And then Miss Granger had presented him with those Muggle noise-blocking devices... He had been so surprised, so delighted and relieved, that he had almost kissed her. But he hadn't, of course, kissed her. Teachers didn't do such things with students. They weren't supposed to. Do do so would be unethical-- a breach of trust-- as well as being undignified. And if he _had _done so, he could undoubtedly bet his boots that the story would flash accross the school like malisciously gleeful wildfire. Then he would have to face the headmaster, and Miss Granger would probably slap him...

But how strange that she had blushed crimson at that very moment, as if she actually knew what he was thinking-- as if she could sense his sudden errant impulse to take her in his arms and snog her senseless. And how odd that the more he thought about it, the more he wished that he could actually do it. Miss Granger had a very kissable mouth, and with her color high she was even more appealing.

How tempting those plump, red lips looked, so beautifully shaped and parted a little in surprise. How soft they must feel... how sweet...

Snape almost slapped himself at that moment. _Stop that! _He lectured himself sternly in alarm. _What is the matter with you? Have you lost your mind? You are NOT a lech! She is a student and you are a teacher. It is simply not allowed. You could lose your job! _

Not to mention look like a complete fool. Miss Granger might look kissable, but he doubted that she would find him so. That pretty little Gryffindor would be more likely to kiss one of the Hogwarts Thestrals than snog him. _What must she be thinking of him... _

Except that she didn't seem either revolted, horrified, or angry. She only appeared slightly embarrassed and confused because he had stared at her so pointedly. Perhaps she was only worried that she had trespassed in some way and offended him. Perhaps she was flustered because he had acted out of character and displayed gratitude. Of course she didn't actually _know _that he had been thinking of kissing her. _That he was still thinking it... (stop that!) _No harm had actually been done.

And it was with relief that he saw her take the seat directly behind him on the bus, proving without a doubt that she couldn't have an inkling of what he had been thinking. If she suspected him of having lecherous thoughts conserning her, she would have put as much distance between them as she could. Instead, she seemed perfectly comfortable with him. Good.

As the bus pulled out of the gates of Hogwarts, Snape looked beyond Miss Granger at the other students sitting two-by-two in the bus. Despite his little pep-talk, and despite the fact that they knew they were better prepared to compete than they were last time, the group seemed apprehensive. They looked a little stiff, their eyes appeared wider.

Of course having a lunatic for a driver didn't help. Filch was making the bus excellerate far faster than the road conditions warranted, and had just taken an extremely sharp, sudden turn. Snape didn't miss the "spooked" appearance of many of the girls. No doubt they all remembered how awful the last trip had been. They looked like nervous horses in a smoking barn. Unfortunately, he had little idea how to _calm _nerves, being much more tallented in _giving _them. He turned to Miss Granger.

"Your team appears apprehensive. Any suggestions?"

"Well, we could get them to sing as a distraction. When I was younger and went to summer camp, we always used to sing on the camp bus. And when my junior team went to Competition we sang on the way too."

Snape considered for a moment. He, himself, was not given to singing. He didn't know if he could even carry a tune. And he certainly didn't know any songs.

"What songs did you sing?"

"Oh, just silly camp tunes, rounds, or songs that go on and on. Things like "Found a Peanut," "One Bottle of Pop," or "Roll me Over."

He knew he probably shouldn't ask, but he couldn't help himself. "Roll me Over?"

"Yes," she said innocently. "You must have heard it sometime."

She then procedded to render a verse that made Filch suddenly jerk the steering wheel in such a savage way that the bus crossed into the wrong lane. Thankfully no car was approaching from the other direction. But the whole bus was silent with attention as female ears pricked forward to hear the words and interrested eyes turned their way to the front.

**Roll me over**

**In the clo-o-ver!**

**Roll me over**

**Give me a drink**

**And do it again!**

Snape stared at her in outrage. He had never been more shocked in his life and it must have shown. _And he thought HIS thoughts had been naughty... _

"Children..._GIRLS_...? Sing THAT?" he barely managed to sputter.

Miss Granger immediately began to backpedal, though he noticed that she didn't look ashamed or contrite... only a little embarrassed.

"Oh, well..." she said with an uncharacteristic hint of a giggle. "Girls DO sing a lot of silly things... But I suppose _that _song wouldn't really be approprate for _mixed_ company... How about "One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall?"

"Is _that _one appropriate?" he growled dubiously.

"Oh sure! Even little kids can sing it, although it can be a bit monotonous. It goes like this:"

**One hundred bottles of beer on the wall**

**One hundred bottles of beer!**

**Take one down and pass it around,**

**Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall!**

"And the song just goes on and on until you come to _no _bottles of beer, but you can always turn the song around and count back to one hundred puting the bottles back up... Shall we sing it?"

Filch chose that moment to favor them all with a comment that was both loud and virulently obscene. Snape had just reached the end of his tether.

"Shut up, Filch!" he shouted, "Or I'll gag you with a potion spoon! What's the matter with you? There are Ladies present!"

"Ladies? That lot?" Their driver pointed a gnarled thumb behind him at the girls and sneered unpleasantly.

Snape rapped Filch's chair sharply with his wand. "And one very _proper_ wizard!" he added sourly. "Keep your eyes on the road, and your mouth shut or I'll turn you into a cat!"

Filch suddenly brightened. He actually looked hopeful The bus veered toward a tree and narrowly missed.

"_A neutered cat!" _Snape hissed acidly.

The driver's pauchy face turned extra ugly as he scowled in bitter resentment. He gunned the engine, took aim at some approaching railway tracks, and managed to hit them with enough speed to make the bus momentarily airborne. The girls squeeled as luggage spilled onto the floor, and Snape bumped an elbow painfully on the window. He flicked his wand at Filch.

"Ouch! Bloodly hell! How can I drive with you hexing me?"

"Drive properly or I'll hex you again!"

"Great big bully!" the old caretaker muttered. "Just because YOU'VE got magic. Just because you've got a WAND, you think you can lord it over the rest of us...push us around... OUCH! Well, I'm not takin' it! I know my rights! I'm not scared of YOU! I'll just go see the Headmaster. HE won't let you hex me! You'll see!"

"Let's hear "One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall," suggested Snape nastily, turning around and facing the girls. "Sing it loud enough for our driver to hear, but take care not to strain your voices." He gave Filch a wicked sideways glance.

The driver blanched. "Hey! That's not fair! You can't do that to me! It's torture, that is! Cruel and unusual punishment! I'll tell the Headmaster!"

"Please do so. He'll smile and offer you a lemon drop. Go ahead team, SING!"

Snape rolled a pair of the Muggle ear protectors between his fingers and then placed them carefully into his ears. And they actually worked beautifully! _Who'd a thought? _He settled back into his seat, kept the tip of his wand pointed lazily at Filch, and did his best to enjoy the ride.

The driving didn't improve all that much, but at least Filch kept to one side of the road, _the correct side, _and refrained from too much excessive speed. He still took turns with far too much sharpness, and seemed to be determined to make the bus kiss the backsides of every vehicle in front of them, but he didn't actually appear to be deliberately reckless. He was obviously just innept. _And he was probably the only staff member who could operate one of these things. _Of all the flaming bad luck! Perhaps he should learn it himself. If he ever had time...

"OUCH! Cut that out!" Filch's howl of outrage was muffled to a distant whisper through the ear-plugs.

"That was a pedestrian you almost hit," Snape informed him sternly.

"I wasn't aiming for him! Make them stop singing! They're driving me crazy!"

"Don't bother shouting, Filch. I can't hear you, but I can _see_ just fine. Drive CAREFULLY!"

He kept his wand out and Filch hunched in murderous sullenness over the wheel.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione led the girls in the beginning chorus of "One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall," actually grateful for Filch's rudeness. She had really stuck her foot in it a minute ago with that thoughless little song. Professor Snape had looked on the verge of appoplexy! She had forgotten that he was rather prudish. Naturally, a song like that, sung by a _girl_ student, would seem unnaturally risque.

It _was_ risque, but teen girls sang a lot of bowdy songs-- some far worse than that! Had he never read the poems on the walls of the girls' lavatory? _But of course not_. He never would have gone _into _a girls' lavatory... She sighed mentally. What he must think of her! Of all of them! She hoped he wouldn't see them as degenerate delinquents. After all, it was the very _innocence_ of teen girls that made them find such things fascinating. Those who had done everything there was to do no longer giggled and laughed about it in the same way. But Hermione doubted Snape knew this.

Oddly, the professor's prudishness didn't seem silly or stupid to her. There was something noble, something gentlemanly and gallant, about his stiff, proper, old fashioned manners. It was also comforting to realize that though he could be nasty, harsh, and intimidating, there were limits beyond which he would not transgress-- and that would protect them from anyone who _would_ transgress those limits.

When the girls grew tired of "One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall," she took out a pom-pom and began:

**A, my name is Angelina,**

**My husband's name is Anbercrombie!**

**I live in Aberdeen,**

**And we sell albatrosses!**

She threw the pom-pom to Parvati, who shreaked and giggled, and continued:

**B, my name is Beatrice,**

**My husband's name is Bertie!**

**We live in... a belfry!**

**And we sell... Bats!**

The girls continued with the game, passing the pom-pomback and forth and laughing hysterically at some of the names their team mates came up with, often substituting others when a player coudn't think of one fast enough. Jerry Sweet was given the name "Flower" and paired up with "Fred" as everyone knew she had a secret crush on Fred (or was it George?) Weasley, who co-owned a joke shop. Lucy Prendergast was paired up (to groans of laughter) with Hagrid and made to sell hagis. Hermione should have known what was coming, but for some reason wasn't expecting it. When they came to "S" the pom-pom was thrown to her...

**S, my name is Sandra,**

**My husband's name is...**

"Snape!" laughed one of the Slytherins. All the girls doubled over in their chairs. Hermione felt herself blushing again. _Oh, how silly. _She looked hastily behind her at the professor, but it was obvious he hadn't heard. He was busy keeping Filch in line, and he was wearing the earplugs. Oh, thank goodness for that! It was bad enough she had already shocked him by the "Roll me over" song. What would he think of this?

"Maybe you should sit on his lap again," whispered Jackie Ross. "and give him some excitement."

"She'd probably give him a heart attack," warned Harriet Ramsbottom. "Didn't someone say Snape was a prude?"

Girls sniggered and clutched each other laughing. Obviously to them a prude might as well be a neuter. But how ridiculous! Hermione had never gotten the impression from Snape that he was anything other than strongly masculine. And he certainly wasn't _afraid_ of women. The professor probably had a very healthy love life outside of school.

There had been a fascinating article in the latest "Witch Weekly" that said wizards who acted proper and standoffish in public were often ravenous tigers in private. She suddenly remembered that intense, hungry look she had thought she had seen in his eyes and wondered if this were so in his case. _But why was she thinking this way? Why did she care what her Professor was like in private? _Just because it had looked like he was about to kiss her... Just because, for one moment, she had wondered what it would be like if he did...

Oh, this was getting out of hand! She had to get herself and the rest of the girls back on track.She began firmly:

**S, my name is Stephanie**

**My husband's name is Sam**

"Severus!" whispered a couple stubborn girls.Hermione glared at them. Thankfully, Snape still didn't turn around. Those ear-plugs were the best investment she had ever made!

**We live in Staffordshire**

**And we sell stoves. **

By the time the bus pulled into the hosting school's parking lot, the girls were anything but nervous. An hour of singing and silly games had kept their minds off both the bad driving and the looming competition. But now that they had arrived, Hermione wondered if they had pushed themselves too far. The professor had told them not to strain their voices, but Hermione knew they had all done so. Her own throat felt tired, and the many girls who had squeeled and shrieked with laughter had to feel worse. Worry assaulted her. Perhaps she had let the team down.

Professor Snape rose from his seat in the front and called them to order. There was a crystal vial of something in his hand.

"Before we disembark, you will take a moment to collect and compose yourselves in order to get ready for this Tournament. I expect the best from all of you, and you WILL give it to me."

Everyone was quiet, and perhaps everyone was also thinking, as Hermione was, that they shouldn't have sung or laughed quite so loudly... Snape handed the vial to Hermione.

"Take a sip and pass it around. It will heal whatever you've foolishly done to your voices."

Eyes bugged.

"But I thought we weren't supposed to use any magic, Professor!" exclaimed one of the Slytherins who sounded a little miffed. Most likely she was thinking about the sticky hair goop, the uncomfortable bobby pins, and all those tediously sewn in wigs.

"And you are quite right, Miss Brockelhurst," Snape intoned smoothly. "We are _not_ supposed to use magic in Muggle territory. However, this bus is the property of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As long as we are in it, we are technically on Hogwarts grounds and not IN Muggle territory. That is why all wands, except mine, and all magical artifacts will be left here on the bus. Drink your potion!"

The girls all passed around the potion vial and carefully took a sip of it. Throats felt instantly better and voices returned to top form. The professor looked a little smug as he took back his potion vial. The four Slytherin girls flashed proud, conspiratorial looks at him, and smug looks at everyone else. Hermione actually smiled. It was rather nice having a Slytherin for an Advisor! She grinned at the girls.

"OK team! Lets go get em!" she said rousingly.

All of them, save Filch, left the bus in a cheerful attitude.


	11. This is War

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 11: _This is War!_**

Snape led the girls toward the Muggle building, gathering his courage about him as he did so. he needed to be strong. He needed patience, fortitude, resiliency, and all the Slytherin cunning and subtlety that he could muster. The girls were the ones actually going into battle, but he also had a role to play. They may be the troops, but he was their commanding general. They needed him. While they obeyed him and looked to him for leadership and protection, it was up to him to make strategy. What he did in the judges box was almost as important as their performance.

"Miss Granger," he murmured, stopping the young Gryffindor just outside the building. She looked up at him questioningly. "Tell the team to make a few mistakes during the practice run." His eyes locked onto hers, willing her to understand.

She did. "Right, Professor!" she said with a nod and a sly, pixie-like gleam in her eye, before turning to usher the rest of the team into the building.

He got them registered, saw Miss Granger whisk them off to some inner sanctum reserved only for cheerleaders, and then headed into the arena where he took stock of his surroundings.

This arena was very much the same as the last one-- bleachers, cheerleading mats, a pyramid of golden trophies, and a long row of seats behind a judges table. He had been assigned to box three this time, and noting at least one vacancy at that area of the table, moved forward to fill it.

The hosting team had decorated the place in honor of the event. Balloons of maroon, white, and gold bobbed from bleacher rails and door handles, and streamers extended from various pieces of athletic apparatus lashed overhead. The area around the scoreboard was hung with maroon banners celebrating past victories for such things as wrestling, soccer, and track and field. Under all these the figure of a huge, snarling dog had been painted proudly on the wall. The host team apparently were the "bulldogs." Snape shuddered. Ever since Sirius Black he had absolutely despised dogs...

There were other banners pinned up on the walls above the bleachers, banners denoting the seating section for each competing team's camp followers. Some of these were elaborate, while others mere cheap poster board affairs. Snape noted that Hogwarts didn't have a banner. The only way to find their section was to locate the scowling presence of Filch. Snape scowled too. What was the matter with Miss Granger that she hadn't provide them with a suitable banner? Of course he _had _been keeping her and the rest of the team extremely busy...

A horse-faced judge on the end of the table smirked at him as he took a seat in box three, and all the judges in the row nudged each other and whispered. Snape flashed them all a look of disdain and a couple of faces appeared affronted. Well, what did they expect? They had laughed at him first. Not that he cared... He was here to do a job, not make friends. And he deplored whispering gossips. _Just wait until MY team beat theirs. THAT will wipe those smirks off their faces!_

The arena throbbed with distant music, but thankfully Severus could only feel it, not actually hear it. The earplugs really worked. _Who said Muggles didn't have magic? _He wanted to personally thank the genius who had invented these. Perhaps he would avoid a headache this time. He almost smiled.

"Back for another attempt are we?" came a simpering voice to his right.

It was the blonde judge from the last tournament, the one who came from "Mistlethwaite." Her words were faint but distinct, and Severus marveled at a technology that allowed him to make out human speech at close range, while muffling and blocking out most of the screechy noise around them. Too bad he couldn't block out the sight of her plump, spiteful face.

"So, are your girls going to knock us all on our bottoms today?" The question was arch, and her expression mocking.

Severus merely raised a lofty, sardonic eyebrow. He said nothing but gave a slight smirk. When his girls took to the mat today, they were going to knock everyone on their _heads._

A few other judges nudged each other and a wave of silent laughter ran down the line. Snape kept his composure but ground his teeth. HE wanted to knock these impudent judges onto their bottoms. _Or make their bottoms spout tails!_

_Just you wait! I'll teach you to sneer at my team! I'll make you eat every nasty word..._

The music booming in the background was nowhere near the level of melting volume it would reach when the Competition was well underway. Snape dearly hoped the earplugs would continue to get him through this easily. As it was, the faint "boom, boom, crash! Boom, boom, crash!" seemed to be invading his blood and merging relentlessly with his own heartbeat. He felt the tense, expectant calm he always experienced before a duel. His senses were alight, his perceptions were sharpened. It was war today, and he had to be ready for anything.

He looked around the arena. As yet, the place was only half full as many of the spectators wouldn't show up until it was time for the actual competition runs. Most of the truly dedicated fans who were here for the practice runs seemed to be teenagers, and they were treating the event as an excuse to "party."

As before, most of them appeared bizarrely dressed-- or undressed, to him. The cheerleaders were the neatest people here. Everyone else looked scruffy beyond belief. Snape supposed that he, himself, looked strangely out of place in his conservative costume, but he actually didn't mind that. Somebody had to show some decorum! Never in his life would he have dressed like these ruffians-- not even if his life depended on it! And did these half-naked girls have any idea how lewd they looked? Just now, groups of teens were dancing on the sidelines.

**Come on feel the noise!**

**Girls, rock your boys!**

**And get wild, wild, wild!**

**WILD! WILD! WILD!**

_Oh, please no! _The last thing they needed was a riot. Snape wondered if any of these thugs were armed. They looked like an army of street toughs out for plunder. He noted with disgust that some had even painted their faces. _Savages!_

He looked back at the judges table. Most of the judges seemed to know each other- like some sort of select club in which he was the hated interloper. Again, he was the only male judge. But he had spoken too soon... The Muggle Queer was approaching the table. _Beautiful. Just beautiful! _Snape looked away.

"Well, well. If it isn't Mr. Poker-up-his Butt! Back for more punishment? I didn't think you had it in you."

The gay judge, who had delivered that quip loud enough for the other judges to hear, had just taken a seat further down the table. When Snape turned to glare at him in fury, the man waggled his fingers playfully at him. Snape scowled. _Please spare me! _A few of the female judges tried to stifle laughs.

"So, how are your girls today?" one of them asked solicitously. "Are they any better prepared than last time?"

"Yes," was his terse reply.

"I DO hope so," cooed another. "The poor things! I HATE to see a team humiliated. Especially since it usually isn't all their fault."

"It's usually the fault of their _coach._"

"Oh, but you're not a coach, are you?"

"You're just a _Faculty Advisor_..."

"Too bad! They really _need _a coach!"

"One that won't copy other team's routines!"

"Perhaps we can find one for them..."

"**Are you quite finished?" **he hissed, looking as poisonous as he could.

The judges eyed him back insolently.

"You're out of your league, dear!" one of them said with a superior smile.

"Am I?" he sneered. _Just wait. Just you wait!_

Thankfully, an announcer called the first team to the mat for the start of the practice round. Severus watched carefully as they went through their routine. He noted the amount of difficulty for their stunts and tumbling runs and the degree of complexity of the dance. Taking out a piece of square Muggle parchment, he took notes.

"Copying someone else's routine?" the blonde judge queried.

"Shut up!" Snape muttered as he made another notation.

Severus compared each team to the next one, and then the next, always measuring their level of prowess with that of his own team.

It was odd how the strong, shapely legs and well formed bodies of the cheerleaders did nothing to stir or arouse him no matter what provocative moves they made. In the two weeks following the last competition he had undergone a radical change of attitude. When he had walked into that last arena, he hadn't cared about the outcome of the competition. Now he wanted to win.

Because of that, these cavorting girls in skimpy clothing didn't register to him as _women_. They were the enemy, and it was foolish to be attracted to the enemy! His own girls were HIS team-- honorary Slytherins-- so they also were out of question as objects of desire-- though Miss Granger's pretty face and kissable mouth flashed into his mind. _(Stop that!)_

The Hogwarts team was called to the mat for their practice run. The girls went into formation and Miss Granger met his eyes. He nodded almost imperceptibly. The music started and the routine began, and Snape watched with gratification as the team obeyed his instructions. They bungled their routine, but only he could tell that the mistakes were deliberate. Only he could see the concentration on each face as they purposely changed what they had drilled tirelessly under his forceful watch.

"Oh dear. I thought you said they had improved."

"Be _kind_ to the poor dears and pack it up!"

"What's the name of your school, Hog-wash? THIS team is all washed up!"

Snape chewed his tongue in pent up fury. _Hogwash! _Were these adults? If HE had spoken to someone like that Albus would have accused him of rude, antisocial behavior! Surely the colorful sarcasm he had lashed parents with wasn't _this _bad. _Was it? _Well... maybe some of it was... But HIS victims deserved it! They were stupid and irritating. _Surely he wasn't stupid and irritating. Was he?_ Well, he wasn't stupid. Just not friendly. He was still pondering unpleasantly when the practice runs ended.

As before, Snape took advantage of the lull to walk out and have a break, but he took care to avoid the Queerleader. He needed to calm himself so that he wouldn't hex anyone.

_Hogwash! Someone was going to eat their words if he had to conjure them out of thin air and force feed them.. _But that wouldn't be a good idea. Albus wouldn't approve. And if he attacked somebody his team would be disqualified and they wouldn't be able to win. No, he would have to be patient. He would have to have forbearance. He would have to ignore unimportant things like insults in order to achieve victory. Well, he could do it. A Slytherin could do anything.

When he came back in, the atmosphere was already quickening. More spectators were pouring in and soon the arena would be bursting to near-claustrophobic capacity. On the floor, the place seemed to be erupting cheerleaders. He saw clumps of blue uniforms, red uniforms, maroon and white striped uniforms. Some wore skirts shorter than the ones his girls wore. Some had bare midriffs.

Many girls were prancing about waving stuffed animals clad in team colors. Other teams sported colorful leis, beads, or feather boas, or wore ridiculous looking bunny ears. A few wore fantastically oversized sunglasses in brilliant blue or flaming red. Blue unfortunately predominated as it seemed to be the most popular cheerleading color. Snape had heard far too many renditions of "Go Big Blue!"

One spunky little team was jumping about in a huddle, arms around each others shoulders in a communal hug. Bright yellow oversized hair ribbons bounced in rhythm as they chanted a militant song:

**We are St. Martin, and we're gonna get you!**

**We are the team that is gonna upset you!**

**We are St. Martin, and we're gonna beat you!**

**We may be small but we're gonna defeat you!**

Snape considered for a moment as he took his seat. That wasn't a bad idea. His team, he noticed, was just sitting on the bleachers like sheep waiting to be fleeced or slaughtered. They had no boas, no bunny ears, no stuffed animals, no props of any kind. They were sitting there nice and orderly. Too orderly.

He caught Miss Granger's eye and jerked his head slightly in the direction of the St. Martin team. Her face lit up immediately in comprehension, and Snape could almost see the gears turning in that incredible brain of hers. It didn't take long. Soon the team stood up and formed a huddle.

**We got the MAGIC TOUCH!**

**Oh yeah! **(Clap! Clap!)

**Oh yeah! Yeah!**

That was better! He smirked slightly in satisfaction. The Hogwarts team was getting some notice. Now girls all over the arena were starting to dance. They stood on chairs or danced in place, clapping and shouting, "Let's go! Let's go!" Whole teams were moving in line ( Step. Step. Dip. Turn. Clap. Clap. Jump!) while the wild tempo of the drumming music-- now becoming louder-- throbbed through the floor.

Snape knew what this was now because he had seen it at the last Competition. It was the pre-battle frenzy, the blood fever stimulator. So berserkers in ancient times would incite each other before the war-fever took them. Severus was pleased to see his team gyrating around his the rest of them. _This was war, after all. Let the enemy realize it._

The Hogwarts Flyers were in their midst and spoiling for battle. They were going to WIN this time or he would know the reason. At the very least they would place higher than they did before. Out of six teams in their division, they had to place at least _fourth _or he would make them scrub the dungeon with toothbrushes!

The crowd paused for the National Anthem. This time it was sung by two pony-tailed cheerleaders giving a duet-- or was it a duel? They totally butchered the song. _There were hundreds of people in here. Couldn't they find one who could actually sing? _When everyone had sat down again, the hosting team took the floor in exhibition. The host fan section, the largest in the arena began a chant:

**Here we go, Bulldogs!**

**Here we go! **(Stomp! Stomp!)

The team's mascot, a Muggle dressed in a bulldog suit, cavorted in front of the stands. Snape snorted. _How ridiculous! _The hosting team formed a pyramid, and their flyers put their fingers to their lips. The arena fell into silence.

**Sh! The Bulldogs are coming!**

**Sh! Their coming for you!**

The flyers jumped down and the group postured defiantly.

**Hey! We're here! We're here to win!**

**The Bulldogs are here! This year's OUR YEAR!**

Screaming shook the stands. Noisemakers rattled and horns blared. Hundreds of feet pounded the bleachers. Snape smiled inwardly. Thanks to Miss Granger's glorious ear plugs the noise was not deafening-- only irritating. If today went well, he would have to find a way to thank her. The teams were getting ready for their lineup. The stands thundered with rousing, pulsing sound:

**Boom! Boom! Clap!**

**Boom! Boom! Clap!**

**We will, We will ROCK YOU! Clap!**

**Boom! Boom! Clap!**

_We're going to rock you, all right. Just you wait! _He arranged his score sheets, and waited for the contest to begin. Judges Box Three was responsible for:

Gymnastics: Skill level, of team involved, Timing, Technique, Execution-- 10 out of 10.

Jumps: Skill level, of team involved, Timing, Technique, Height, Variety-- 10 out of 10.

Formation and Spacing: Use of floor, Varied, Interesting, Properly aligned and symmetrical-- when appropriate-- 5 out of 5.

Not bad... There were plenty of ways to deduct points. It was like a Happy Hunting Ground! _This might actually be fun. _

And it almost was. Each team was rich in mistakes. A wig dropped to the floor during the first performance and a cheerleader stooped to pick it up and toss it aside. _Whoops! Points off for_ _that!_ A girl in another routine had a butt so wide that her skirt stayed flipped after her tumbling run. Wasn't there a regulation that skirts must stay down?_ Oh, well. Another point..._

"Isn't it a bit presumptuous of _you _to be so supercritical?" asked the judge on his left, watching him scratch notes on the score sheet. "The shoe will be on the other foot shortly!"

"Feel free to put it on," he returned archly. "But take care lest that shoe kick you!" _I hope it leaves a mark on your rear! _

Snape went on watching the teams for errors. He caught the wobbles, the falters, the out of sync movements-- and there were a lot of them. If his team did what he _knew _they could, Hogwarts could TAKE this tournament!

After carefully checking the spacing of the cheerleaders and where they placed their placards and other props, he noticed the edges of some of the signs jutting out over the boundary line. _Well, really! They should know better! _More points off for that.One girl in the back was missing a hair ribbon. _Did they think he wouldn't notice? _That was worth a point. He busily made notation after notation, and before he knew it, the Hogwarts team was on the mat.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione led her team to the mat. This was it. They were back in the spotlight again-- except that this time she didn't sense fear or panic from her team. The girls seemed infused with a controlled, tense readiness. They were stronger, more confident, even a little defiant. After all, they had been sneered at last time. The Flyers were back for revenge.

Snape looked oddly vulnerable sitting like a stiff, sore thumb in the midst of the Muggle judges. He was the only man... well, almost the only man. The gay announcer from last time was also here, but Hermione sensed that, to Snape, he didn't count as a fellow _man_. The professor was all alone, and from the looks on the faces of his companions, he had not made himself popular.

But that was Snape. He wasn't Mr. Congeniality. Anyone who didn't know him might be excused from thinking he was nothing but an insufferable bastard. And he _could _be that way! The professor's nastiness was legendary, but Hermione had seen for herself that the nastiness was mostly on the outside. The inner Snape, the one hidden behind the scowling sarcasm, actually had good qualities. And he was on their side. If Snape was an insufferable bastard, he was THEIR insufferable bastard! They HAD to do well for him.

Some of the judges were casting smug, humorous looks at them. A couple even appeared condescending, almost pitying. That made Hermione indignant. _Who was being nasty now? _Just then, one of the judges looked sneeringly over at Snape and spoke to him. Hermione couldn't tell what was said, but she could tell that it wasn't nice. The woman looked certain that the Hogwarts team was going to bomb, and she was gloating over it. Hermione's blood began to boil.

"Come on, girls!" She said. "Let's show them. No one sneers at us!"

The girls around her bristled. Some of them glared at the judges with narrowed eyes. They had to nail this routine. They just HAD to! After all the work Professor Snape had gone through for them, after all the hours of study and memorization, after all the trouble he was obviously enduring now, they just _couldn't_ let him down. They had to make him proud. And they had to reward him for letting them see him in that awful vulture-topped hat!

"Let's do it, team! Let's do it for Hogwarts. Let's do it for Snape! Lets do it for US! We're gonna WIN!"

The team shouted and swarmed onto the mat. **"Go Hogwarts! Bring it on!" **

And the routine went beautifully. Well trained limbs moved with smoothness and precision. Tumbling runs exploded joyfully without a hitch. Flyers rose with graceful confidence, and sixteen ebullient girls delivered their warrior chant with perfect rhythm and dazzling smiles. Hermione was almost in tears at the performance end. The team had never done so well! She gazed triumphantly in Snape's direction and caught an answering gleam of approbation in his eyes. The other judges looked disappointedly stunned. She beamed in defiance at them and punched the air with joy.

They had done it! They had rocked the Competition! Hogwarts was bound to place. They might even get First! Hermione had never felt so happy after a performance. It didn't matter to her what trophy they got. What really mattered was that they had pleased their Advisor (and that was hard to do,) and they had proved to themselves they had winning caliber. Each girl could go home knowing they had done their best under pressure. No matter how they were judged, they were victorious.

All the girls glowed with excitement and pride. They barely noticed the last performing teams going through their routines. They hugged and congratulated each other, and heaped each other with exaggerated praise. When all the teams took to the floor for the Communal Dance, it was a Victory Dance for Hogwarts.

But there seemed to be a disturbance in the Judges Box. Angry faces were looking at Snape and he was glaring back, dark eyes blazing out of his trademark waspish sneer. Fingers were pointing, heads were shaking, papers were being waved at him, but, true to character, the professor was keeping a lofty calm. Hermione couldn't help a shiver. A Snape _that_ calm was a danger sign. But she noticed that he didn't look murderous. He was angry, but he also appeared stubbornly triumphant-- smugly so. This obviously had to do with the scoring. She wondered what all the fuss was about...

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape glared down at the group of angry Muggles judges-- like a cluster of spitting cats around him. The floor pounded, and somewhere in the background, he heard the words of that horribly irritating Muggle dance song. Too bad these plugs didn't block it out completely!

**Left foot now stomp!**

**Boom! Boom!**

**Right foot now stomp!**

**Boom! Boom! **

A score sheet was waved in his face. "You can't take points for skirts, wigs, and hair ribbons! You're supposed to be judging tumbling!"

"I notice YOU didn't deduct the proper points for it. Could that be because it is _your_ team's error? For shame, Madam! Is this favoritism?"

**One hop let's go!**

**Boom!**

**Two hops let's go!**

**Boom! Boom! **

"Just stick to what you're supposed to judge!"

"I am! Skirts that stick to overly plump bottoms detract from the beauty of a tumbling run. Stooping to pick up a fallen wig breaks up the flow of a routine, and adds extra movements-- movements that should _not _be there! And as for hair ribbons, if all the girls but one are wearing them, it affects the coherence and synchronism of the whole team. I stand by my decision."

"Oh, do you? Well, what about your own team? Did you grade them as harshly?"

"Actually I did! I took off points for lack of height in Miss Patil's Herkie, and for Miss Ramsbottom's imperfect handspring. I also removed points for improper floor spacing."

"Oh DID you? Funny how you didn't notice the right flyer coming down faster than the left one. What happened, were you temporarily blind?"

**Reverse! Reverse!**

**Boom! Boom!**

**Reverse! Reverse!**

**Boom! Boom!**

"It was SUPPOSED to be that way! The tableau was intended to drop from right to left like falling dominos, and it did-- EXACTLY as planned!"

"Well, I didn't see it that way!"

"Well, I'm sure, _Madam, _that you didn't! And I am equally sure that your momentary lack of sight was deliberate!"

"Of all the nerve! And just where do you get off marking ZERO out of five for the Pikers's Formation and Spacing? Their spacing was _perfect!"_

"Did you notice that all of their placards were initially placed _over _the out-of-bounds line? According to Regulation 52 of the British Cheerleading Official Manual, that is an automatic five point deduction! You _have _read the rules, haven't you?"

**Everybody clap your hands!**

**Clap! Clap! Clap-Clap-Clap! **

**Clap-Clap-Clap-Clap-Clap-Clap-Clap-Clap!**

"You are _insufferable_!" shouted the blonde judge.

"Oh, absolutely! But I am RIGHT! And by the way, I am also a _gentleman, _and as such I shall refrain from telling you what _you _are! I'll leave that to your imagination. Mine is quite picturesque..."

Severus heard the nauseating strains of "Cotton Eyed Joe" beginning. He was being tortured on all sides! And the most sickening thing of all was that, after calculating all the points, his team-- which had performed _near-perfect_-- would only place third! It wasn't fair!

"Well sir! I don't feel at all sorry for giving your team only five out of ten for difficulty. I know when I've been insulted!"

No, Madam, you do not! As I have just told you, I have refrained from doing so. It is YOU who have been insulting me ever since I arrived here. And now you've insulted my team. Five out of ten..._ Their difficulty level was at least an eight!_ Normally YOUR sort of behavior would be considered rude and inhospitable, but... given the circumstances... I suppose allowances should be made for you..."

"Allowances? Allowances for what?"

Snape shrugged in sour fury. "I have no idea! YOU fill in the blanks. I rarely make allowances for anyone. However, in this case I am endeavoring to be _diplomatic_." He loaded the word with venom.

The Queerleader snorted. "That's diplomatic? I never would have guessed! If our Nation's ambassadors were all like you, Britain would be nothing but a giant, smoking crater by now!"

"I can only imagine how _popular _you must be as a teacher!" another judge laughed sarcastically. "I'll bet your students just _love_ you!"

"Oh Heaven forbid!" Snape countered frostily. "The last thing I want is for students to _love_ me!" He pushed Miss Granger's persistent pretty face out of his mind. Somehow or other, he had let her down and it bothered him... "I don't even want them to like me. I want them to respect, fear, and obey me without question! The subject I teach is dangerous. An accident in Potions could be fatal."

"Potions?" Derisive eyebrows were raised.

Severus threw up his hands. "CHEMISTRY!" he sneered. "Referred to jokingly as 'potions.' Use your head!"

"Well I feel sorry for your girls, having to put up with you!"

"I've taken them this far," Snape answered defiantly, "And they've done beautifully for me! They've worked harder than they believed they could in order to perform as well as they did today. And they'll do even better next time."

"Not with a stolen routine, they won't." snipped the blonde judge stubbornly.

"Oh stop!" he hissed. "Our routine isn't stolen and you know it! You're just being unnecessarily spiteful! You're acting nastier than I do, and I didn't think THAT was possible! Now if you will excuse me, I've had _enough_ for this tournament. If you really must insult me further today, do it somewhere else. I'm sure you can gossip maliciously without your victim being present!"

He stared fixedly away from them, ignoring the sputters, mutters, and whispering chuckles that came from their direction. Snape would have walked out and waited in the lobby until the Tournament was officially over, but he knew he couldn't do that. The girls had given it their very best. Their expressions had been jubilant after their stunningly masterful performance.

Even though he felt furiously jaded over the outcome of the judging, he knew they would be exultant over winning third place. To them, it was a real victory and he couldn't spoil it. He had to stay to watch them collect their substandard trophy. _But it wasn't over. Not by a long shot!_ Next time they would be back to even the score, and he, Severus Snape, would find a way to make them do it. Slytherins never give up!


	12. Strategy and Plotting

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 12:_ Strategy and Plotting _**

Snape brooded late in his office, score sheets spread out in a fan on his desk. _Third place... Only third place! _And they had performed so well! He had been proud of his team when they moved into formation and boldly began their routine, but he had been prouder still when they nailed everything he had drilled them on. Their timing was brilliant, their form right "on." They had made no major blunders that he could see, and they smiled like effervescent pixies throughout the whole thing.

But none of that seemed to be enough. They had been superb. They had made fewer blunders than any other team at the Competition, yet they still hadn't taken first place. Snape made a growling sigh. _Those Muggle judges were infuriating! _He had been outraged at the errors those pompous women had forgiven other teams for while they had pounced on every tiny mistake of his.

He hadn't done that! He had been very fair. At the first tournament, when Hogwarts couldn't have been much worse, Snape had marked them just as harshly as everyone else. He hadn't pretended that the errors didn't happen. Why weren't the other judges doing the same?

Severus studied the various score sheets. Five out of ten for partner stunts, five out of ten for motions, one out of five for pyramids, and two out of five for transitions. True, he had given higher marks in his own area, but the team actually deserved it! He had awarded eight out of ten for gymnastics, nine out of ten for jumps ( the only glitch was Miss Patil's Herkie,) and four out of five for spacing. He saw no reason for the undeserved lowness of the other scores.

It reminded him of how the rest of the school treated the House of Slytherin. The other Houses favored their own, but they were collectively biased against Slytherin. They booed new Slytherins at the Sorting Ceremony, cheered for any team but Slytherin in Quiddich, and often helped each other win points if they could keep a Slytherin from scoring. And they all accused HIM of being unfair!

Of course he often had to fight a little dirty to retaliate. With three Houses aligned against his, Snape had to be creative to even the odds. But even so, he was very careful not to transgress certain lines. He preferred his students to win through discipline, dedication, and hard work. He was strict with them. Never had he resorted to bending the rules to allow a _first year _onto the Quiddich team, as McGonagall had done, or actually _buy him a broom _so that he could play!

Another frustrated sigh escaped as he scanned the scores. He couldn't cheat-- even though it would be simple to make another team fail by magic, or to doctor up the score sheets. Not only would it be against Ministry Laws, but any victory gained that way would be hollow. The team might get a first place trophy, but they wouldn't really have won. There had to be another way.

The best way to triumph was to keep improving. If he could take each category and reduce the losses by two or three points, the overall point addition could be impressive. They had barely managed to place third this time, but if they tweaked their routine just a little they could place second-- or even first.

A zero glared out at him from the column marked "Crowd Appeal." Crowd appeal was spectator response. It had to do with those loud, raucous fans in the stands, and it seemed ridiculous to Snape that this one area should have so many points allotted to it. Ten points for crowd appeal but only five each for partner stunts, pyramids, and voice. Surely those things were far more important. _But cheerleading was all about LEADING cheers... _If a team didn't incite others to yell along with them, they weren't doing their job. HERE was an area they could improve upon!

Except that here they were hampered by Filch... Snape knew Argus Filch enough to know that the old caretaker would DIE before he'd blow a horn, shake a noisemaker, or do _anything_ to help the Hogwarts team. His sour presence stood out like a canker sore in the stands. It was obvious to everyone who saw him that he hated the team and hoped for their defeat.

The situation looked bleak. Dour old Filch could douse a fire merely by scowling at it. Even if Severus managed to conjure up, or pay, some motivated fans to watch the girls, the dark cloud of Filch-generated negativism would taint any effort they might make. One bad apple would spoil the bunch.

But the answer was simple: _Get rid of Filch!_ Why keep him if he was hurting team? Just replace him with someone else, tweak the routine to work with a responsive audience, and get some Wizarding spectators to yell and shout-- piece of cake! Then they were sure to earn more points. They might even take a higher trophy. It wasn't until the next day that he discovered the flaw in his reasoning.

Snape was halfway to his first class when it dawned on him that he couldn't just blithely dismiss Filch. Who would drive the bus? Most wizards, including him, didn't know how. Severus only had one acquaintance who could drive and that was Arthur Weasley, but Arthur had risen in the Ministry. He was far too busy to drive sixteen school-witches to Muggle athletic meets-- even if Molly would let him!

The mood of Snape's class was tense as they carefully applied themselves to their cauldrons without talking or distractions. No one wanted to attract their professor's attention as he seemed more than usually poised to inflict punishment. And he was. Life, for him, seemed incredibly dark.

_So they had to keep Filch after all!_ How unfair was that? How could he work his new strategy with that albatross sitting like a cankerous blight in the audience? The man drove like a drunkard, swore like a sailor, and almost killed someone every time he got behind the wheel. His very nastiness made winning impossible. And they couldn't get rid of him! Snape was so mad he could have howled at the moon.

A light dawned suddenly. Howl at the moon... _Lupin. _That was it! Why hadn't he thought of it before? Remus Lupin was a werewolf. Until Dumbledore had hired him to teach, he had been virtually unemployable. Word was that he had resorted to working for Muggles, and if that was the case, he probably knew how to drive a car. All Snape had to do was replace Filch with Lupin and the team's troubles were over! And Lupin would jump at the chance. He was a helpful sort.

But the ointment of triumph contained a fly. Severus would have to _ask_ him. He had no problem _using_ Lupin, but he hated the idea of crawling to him for help. Lupin had once seen him at his worst and Snape couldn't stand to look weak and vulnerable again. He had to appear strong, in control, self sufficient. Having to ask for help would destroy that image, but if his team needed it... he would have to bite the bullet. Lupin would get revenge upon him for having refused his help in the past, but the team would get what they needed. It would be a sour, lopsided victory.

But wait! Snape almost hit himself upside the head. What was the matter with him? _Was he a Slytherin or wasn't he? _The best path between two points wasn't necessarily a straight line. A serpentine route often worked far better. He needn't actually _ask _Lupin to drive the cheerleading bus, all he had to do was get him to volunteer again! That way, _Lupin _would do the asking, and Severus could graciously accept.

Snape's eyes glittered as he pondered the possibilities. Several students glanced warily at him and then back to their cauldrons with a shudder. A smiling Snape was more frightening than a frowning one.

The question was how to do it. Maneuvering the werewolf really wasn't the problem. Gryffindors were famous for lack of imagination. Lupin would never suspect he was being manipulated-- especially if Snape didn't address him directly. The problem was all the other factors that had to be in the right place to induce Lupin to bite the bait.

Snape knew he could pull it off. He had set up the Marauders countless times in the past-- and they had always fallen for it. It had been the only way a lone boy could get back at a gang of four who attacked boldly and relied on strength of number. He hadn't been able to stop them from attacking him, come through unscathed, or effectively counterattack all four. But it had been easy to steer them red-handed into the clutches of Filch, who was most creative in awarding detentions.

All it would take was careful cunning. And with a feeling of almost warm nostalgia, he realized Filch would be happy to be relieved of his cheerleading duties. He and the caretaker would actually be on the same side again. Old Argus had truly enjoyed giving Potter and his marauding friends hell, even though he never suspected Snape as the reason behind his frequent capture of them.

It would be like old times in a way, but that was the problem. He needed _time_. All he had was a week, and he had to spend most of it working with the team. Success might depend on luck. The right opportunity had to arise: a conversation in the staff room, an encounter in the hall, a grumbled complaint to the right ears. He could use the girls, of course, as poor, sad, victims. Ladies in distress were always useful bait, and no Gryffindor could resist the chance to play Sir Gallahad!

And it had to work. _It just had to! _Otherwise he would have to grovel in front of that werewolf... He began to map out various scenarios in his mind. Where there was a will, there was a way.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"You wanted to see me, Professor?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. We need to discuss the strategy for the next Tournament. It will be necessary to change the routine."

"Oh." Hermione felt a little nonplused. She had come up with that routine herself and she thought it was perfect. "What do we need to change?" Her voice sounded dubious.

"Sit down, Miss Granger." A chair squeaked across the floor and stopped in front of the Potions Master's desk. Hermione sat down gingerly. Snape didn't usually let students sit when talking to him and it felt odd. He handed her a pile of score sheets.

"Despite the good performance our team delivered yesterday, we appear to be wanting in a few areas."

Hermione looked at the first score sheet and frowned. "Five out of ten for motions? Six out of ten for dance?" She shuffled the pages as she scanned the others. "How in the world did we ever make third place? These judges were _brutal!_"

Snape curled his lip wryly and raised a meaningful eyebrow. "I was just as brutal as they were. But the point is, these _do _show areas where improvement is needed. For instance..." He pointed to a box on judges sheet #2. "Crowd Appeal. We received a zero. That is a ten point category and obviously we need to address it. We need to make the vocal part of the routine _interface _with the audience."

"But our chant _does _do that!" Hermione said indignantly. "It has all the elements!"

"Show me. Go through the chant portion of the routine here in my office and we will take each element and evaluate it for effectiveness."

Hermione hesitated. "In my robes, sir? They're going to get in the way." There was a handspring right in the middle that would be impossible to throw properly in standard Wizarding attire...

Snape rolled his eyes. "Will you be forced to waste our valuable time going up to Gryffindor Tower to retrieve it, or can you conjure your uniform from here?"

"I think I can." She closed her eyes in concentration. Conjuring, making something disappear one place and reappear somewhere else, was N.E.W.T. Level transfiguration, and it helped to be able to know _exactly _where the object was in order to disappear it. Fortunately for her she did. Her uniform was hanging up in her wardrobe. She gripped her wand. "_Dematerio!" _she commanded, and then, "_Materio!"_

Unfortunately, a set of very lacy baby-doll pajamas appeared on the professor's desk. He eyed them sardonically and lifted one up with his wand so that it dangled by one delicate, pink spaghetti strap.

"I don't think so, Miss Granger. Try again!"

Hermione blushed to the roots of her all too curly hair. "Um... Sorry!" she muttered and made them disappear. Thankfully, her next attempt caused her cheerleading uniform to materialize neatly on the desk.

"That's better. You may use my storage room to change in. Oh, and by the way.. you had better practice your conjuring if you wish an "O" on your N.E.W.T.'s..."

Hermione was still blushing as she changed. Surely he didn't think she had done that deliberately? Some girls might like to tease that way, but such a thing would never occur to her-- and certainly not with Professor Snape! She respected him. She looked up to him. She _liked _him. The last thing she wanted was for him to get the wrong idea and think she was silly, stupid, or rude.

She didn't want him to think badly of her. He had started to show her some real respect, and that respect was precious to her. She didn't want to lose it. Of course Parvati would say she had conjured those naughty nighties subconsciously. She would say it was Freudian.

But that just couldn't be! She was an intelligent, levelheaded, sensible girl. She had never done anything subconscious in her life! And she wouldn't do something like that with a _teacher_, even one she suddenly found rather fascinating. Even one she had imagined kissing... _Oh dear, maybe it WAS subconscious! What was she going to do? __Could he possibly know?_

"How long can it take you to get changed?" The professor sounded impatient.

"Coming, sir!" She did up the zipper, conjured her socks and athletic shoes, and reentered the office.

_He won't think it's subconscious. He'll just think I'm bad at conjuring! I mustn't look too nervous..._

"Smile, Miss Granger!" he ordered when she was halfway through the chant. "You committed a _faux pas, _not the Cardinal Sin. It isn't as if you had conjured that silly piece of clothing onto your _person_," he added wryly. "Although, even if you had I'm sure I would have survived it, and it is equally possible you would have survived as well. Start from the top again, and this time do it properly!"

Hermione suddenly saw the humor of the situation. It _was _rather funny. She could imagine her old friends Harry and Ron rolling on the floor having a good laugh at her expense. How odd that ultra-serious Professor Snape should catch the humor before she did. But then again, HE hadn't just conjured his underwear... Still, he had tried in his dry, sarcastic way to put her at her ease. Four weeks ago he wouldn't have done that. Her buoyancy returned and she smiled.

**One! Two! Three! Four!**

**Hogwarts Flyers are on the floor!**

Here she did a back handspring.

**We're the team that can't be beat!**

**Flyers! You know it!**

**Blue! Yellow! Red! Green!**

**We fly so high we can't be seen!**

**Green! Red! Yellow! Blue!**

**Look out rivals we've come for you!**

**F-L-Y-E-R-S!**

**Flyers! Let's hear it!**

**F-L-Y-E-R-S!**

**Flyers! The BEST!**

Snape had watched the routine in silent, serious thought, his fingers absently rubbing his chin.

"Are you able to see the problem?" he asked when she was done.

"What problem do you mean?"

"We need a chant that engages the audience, that has cues for them to chime in. The beginning has possibilities and so does the ending, but the middle has to go."

Hermione bristled. She was very proud of that part. It had all the Hogwarts House colors in it along with a cute reference to flying. She didn't want to give it up. "But why, sir? It's perfect for Hogwarts! It includes all the Houses and uses those colored flags. It's our trademark!"

Snape paused. "It _does _use the House colors, but I doubt that makes sense to those watching. If we were competing in a Wizarding Cheerleading Competition, it would be perfectly appropriate. But our competitors are Muggles. I think we should structure our routine so they can understand. _Four _colors, for instance, may seem too complicated-- especially as our uniforms are black, white, and gold...

She hated to admit it, but he had a point. "Well, what do you suggest?"

"I think we should forgo any mention of colors completely. There is no easy way to include them. That means no flags either. I suggest we switch to placards with references to flying, and use simple, catchy phrases that can be echoed from the stands, such as what we do at Quiddich matches."

"You mean like, 'Weasley is our King?'"

"NO! Something like _'Fly High Slytherin!'_ only for all of Hogwarts."

"Hmm..." Hermione considered. "And if we used placards we could add some stunting too. Most teams have a flyer holding the placard. It would increase our difficulty level."

He raised an approving eyebrow. "Yes. Good thinking. Which leads to the next matter. We need to boost the overall level of difficulty. I propose _small _changes that would be easy to implement in a week. Twist-cradling in the first stunt round and perhaps pikes in place of basket tosses at the end."

She nodded. The team wasn't going to be happy about changing the routine, but these measures sounded workable. All teams made alterations like these between tournaments. No one like it, but they did it anyway. _Good_ teams customized their routines to respond to their competitors. It was a fact of the sport.

Snape put the computer on the desk, switched it on, and opened a file containing a three-D picture of a team on a mat. Cute cartoon players assumed various poses when clicked on. Hermione frowned. She had seen this program before but she didn't remember owning it. It must be part of the reams of cheerleading stuff she had hurriedly downloaded without examining in detail. How persistent of the professor to have dug through it all to find it!

"Wow, Professor! You've really done well with the computer!" She couldn't disguise the admiration in her voice.

She received another raised eyebrow. "You were expecting less?"

"Oh, well... It's just that most wizards don't take to Muggle technology..."

"Most wizards are not Slytherins," he countered loftily. "The Slytherin model is the snake-- subtle, bendable, adaptable. I can master anything-- even Muggle technology-- because, unlike those from other Houses, I am _flexible._" He sounded a little pompous. Perhaps that was what prompted her to answer:

"Well, sir... perhaps. But not as flexible as I am!"

She had said that on an impulse. The atmosphere between them had become more relaxed than she could ever have imagined possible. They were working together with a sort of odd camaraderie and it had caused her to let her guard down. Now she wondered if she had gone too far.

The professor stared at her for a few painful seconds and Hermione froze. Then his face crinkled into a surprised smile and he actually chuckled. Hermione remembered to breathe and she stared astounded at Snape. She had never seen him laugh before. _She_ _wasn't even sure that he could!_ His startled, puckery smile added pleasant lines to his ascetic, homely face and the transformation was fascinating.

"Yes... Quite." His eyes gleamed slyly as he continued to chuckle. "I can't imagine my dignity would be enhanced by the ability to do handsprings. Close your mouth, Miss Granger. You'll encourage flies. Now let's get to work."

Working so closely with Professor Snape-- conferring, brainstorming, bouncing around ideas-- was bizarre beyond words. He even had her move her chair around the desk so that they could both see the computer screen at the same time. No student ever sat _next _to the Potions Master-- that was absolutely unheard of! They stood cowering in front of him or huddled meekly in his class...

Hermione really liked it. It didn't feel as if they were professor and student, but more like colleagues-- almost equals. And while they worked she couldn't help watching his face when he spoke. It was intriguing how he could express so much with just a lift of an eyebrow or a mere twitch of a lip. No one else she knew was capable of that. She justified her scrutiny of his features by balancing it with the knowledge that she was _sure _he was occasionally looking at her legs...

Such a thing should have bothered her-- and it did, but not the way she would have expected. He was a man. Men did these things. And he was very discreet. He didn't leer. Hermione was rather gratified that a Man Of The World found her legs attractive. After all, he wouldn't look at them if he didn't like them! But she wondered if that little scar Crookshanks had given her was still showing. She was very glad she had used _Morvin_ _Munchausen's Magical Hair Remover_ that morning!

This charmed, relaxed atmosphere allowed them to casually argue, almost bicker, the way she and Ron had used to do. It had to be the reason for his appreciation of her appearance (occasionally his eyes would travel from her head to her feet,) or the boldness she felt in examining his hair (it wasn't actually greasy,) or his hands (elegant and long-fingered.) All this would change later. Once she was back in Gryffindor Tower he would go back to being the stern, unapproachable Potion's Master and she would again be the lowly student. But for now, she enjoyed this enchanted moment. It was almost as if they were friends.

"No, that won't work, Miss Granger. Far too wordy. Try it this way."

"Uh uh, Professor. The cadences are wrong. The rhythm clashes with the rest of the chant. The whole thing has to hang together."

She could sense his nearness in a way she had never done before, even though they were certainly not touching. But it felt as though they _could _touch at any moment, and part of her wanted to see what would happen if they did. Would sparks fly? Would the earth shake? Would he allow it? All she had to do was just lean to the left a little and they would bump...

Of course she didn't. What was happening? Why was she having this ridiculous schoolgirl fancy, this teenage bout of silliness? She wasn't a child anymore. She was nineteen, older than most of her classmates. She shouldn't be reacting this way! A musky aroma of herbs emanated from him and she remembered the sensation of warmth she had experienced when she had fallen onto his lap. Warmth and herbs, and a dusky voice... Strange magic was happening, but not the type taught in class!

"I think Parvati should be in the lead here," Hermione said as she projected images into the air. "She's the strongest flyer and learns quickly." An image of a brown skinned girl standing in a "liberty" and holding up a placard moved to center stage.

"I disagree. The twins work better as bookends. It adds symmetry. Miss Larivee should be in the front since she's the youngest and the smallest. We'll be able to capitalize on the 'cute factor'."

Hermione's image of Parvati dropped the placard and moved over to the side. An image of Padma materialized on the other side, and a miniature Feona Larivee appeared between them standing in a "full" and holding the placard over her head.

"The 'cute' factor?" Hermione felt a little disgruntled. _Since when did Snape use the word CUTE?_

"Cute is irritating, Miss Granger, but it has tremendous charm on audiences. _They _don't have to know the little cherub melts cauldrons, forgets her homework, and drops her wand in class."

It took a tremendous effort to suppress a smile. _Had she had actually felt a flash of jealousy_ _because he had called another student cute?_ But of course Snape wasn't impressed by cuteness. And he had a point. Judges loved the adorable. There was only one problem, and Hermione puckered her brow in concern.

"But will she be able to do it? She might not be able to learn these changes in a week."

Snape smirked. "She'll do it, Miss Granger. Her problem is, she won't believe she can. But I don't foresee any difficulty. I'll bully her, and you'll build her up with kind encouragement. Between the two of us, she'll master that chant in no time. Muggles call it a _tag team._"

Hermione looked up at him and suddenly laughed.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape sat at the Head Table, his mind distracted by memories of Miss Granger. How strange to have worked so closely with the Gryffindor Know-it-all and have found it so enjoyable. She had a bright, quick mind and a frank, practical manner. She wasn't afraid to say what she thought, yet she was willing to compromise. Even though _she_ had written that chant herself, she had worked hard to come up with an alternative.

There wasn't another student who could have worked with him like that. Most females crumbled into puddles of tongue-tied terror in his presence, while the rest either prattled idiotically or gave him attitude. Working with Hermione had been a privilege. It also didn't hurt that she was attractive...

Or perhaps it did. Having her change into her uniform had probably been a mistake. Snape hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her legs. Moving her chair next to his hadn't been wise either, but that computer screen was flamingly small. Of course it made sense to sit where they could both see it-- even if that put those pretty legs into closer viewing range.

She had been close enough to touch-- not that he would have ever done so, _but he had thought_ _about it a lot_. Those legs looked incredibly smooth and they appeared magically devoid of hair. He couldn't help but wonder if they felt as silky as they looked. It would have been simple to have brushed his hand against her "accidentally" and had a little feel. But to do so would have been a violation, something he would never do to a student-- and never to this _particular_ student. He thought too highly of her for that.

He had been continually aware of her scent too-- a sweet mingling of florals, vanilla, and ginger, with a musky something that was uniquely Hermione. It was an enticing aroma that registered with his body at a deep, instinctive level. Severus knew that if he were to brew the _Amortentia _potion, it would smell exactly like that... How he had kept on topic had been a tribute to his iron control. To let on that he found her presence intoxicating would be an insult to her innocence. It would also get him in trouble. No student wanted to know that their ugly, old teacher felt pervy!

_But what malignant bit of bad luck had made her conjure that sexy negligee? _She obviously hadn't done it deliberately. One look at her mortified expression had convinced him of that. She had been so embarrassed he had actually taken pity on her and said something dismissive to reassure her. Fate and blind, random chance seemed to be aligned against him to drive him mad! _So what ELSE was new?_

Miss Granger was sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table surrounded by members of the team. The Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and even Slytherin team members were gathered about her. Cheerleading was helping to bring the four Houses together in a way nothing else had ever been able to do. Even _he_ had never been keen on inter-House cooperation until now. Snape had been one of the most dedicated to upholding the rivalry. How odd that now he was a key part of the cooperative effort.

Of course getting _Lupin_, his old Gryffindor enemy, to work with him (painlessly if possible) would be the most cooperative action of all. _Imagine the goodwill that would_ _generate!_ Goodwill could be very beneficial, and a Slytherin could always find a use for it. And the "brownie" points he could score off Dumbledore would be well worth the effort. _Besides, it might actually feel good... _

But all that was academic if he couldn't find a way to make his plan work. So far, he hadn't yet hit upon an opening line that would draw the werewolf into the net. _If only his head wasn't so_ _foggy! _He had devised nothing that didn't sound stupidly obvious. And every time he tried to think at all he was distracted by memories of pretty legs, intelligent eyes, and the scent of flowers and vanilla spice. He was losing it. _He HAD to be losing it!_

As he brooded silently on his wretched state, he almost missed the word "motorcar" spoken in the edge of his hearing. His mind came to instant attention. _Had someone mentioned cars?_ He couldn't be as lucky as that! But as he listened he heard it again and almost laughed out loud. Oglevie was blathering again. Well, well. Severus would never have believed it possible, but the man was actually being useful.

Cyrus Oglevie was the new Muggle Studies teacher and, outside of Gilderoy Lockhart, the most noxiously irritating person that Snape had ever worked with. The man loved to hear the sound of his own voice. There was no conversation he wouldn't try to dominate, no subject he could be silent on. He gabbled endlessly about his area of expertise, and most of the other teachers avoided him like the plague. Snape usually pretended he didn't exist.

It was invariably poor Flitwick who ended up having to listen to him. The little Charms teacher was a kind soul and he was often buried under the verbiage because he couldn't behave with the sort of curt rudeness that would temporarily shut Oglevie up. Today he was nodding politely as the man pompously droned on and on. Severus repressed a smirk.

"And you wouldn't _believe _how many types there are, how many complicated versions, or how crazy Muggles are for them! As I was telling Julian the other day (you know, Julian Flambeaux, from the Department of magical Transport?) That it would be of _inestimable _value to him to have someone with my wealth of knowledge handy to advise him..."

Snape stopped himself in the act if rolling his eyes. _Oh sure. Like he's an expert in anything! I wouldn't take advice from that FLY in picking my nose!_ How did Filius put up with him? What Oglevie needed was a good, swift, justified SWAT. Except that this time it would be prudent to let him buzz a little first. The fly had just handed him his prime opportunity on a silver platter.

"I have my students learn as much as they can about them-- the different types of engines, the company names (Muggles are so label conscious, you know!), and the statutes that govern their use. They call them Rules of the Road, and Muggles have to memorize them..."

_Oh this was beautiful. Absolutely perfect! _He could make a fool out of Oglevie and lay the bait for Lupin all in one move-- like braining two birds with a single rock! And he wouldn't look any nastier than he normally did. The rest of the staff might even thank him. Snape waited carefully and savored the moment. He loved economy of motion. .

"I teach them all about how these instrument work. It will be of great help to them when they have to venture out into the Muggle world. I even have a classroom simulation where they can actually get _into _a motorcar and experience _first hand_ what it feels like..."

"Do you use the Hogwarts bus for their first excursion?" Snape asked with quiet innocence.

Heads at the Head table jerked up in surprise. The Potions Master never spoke to the Muggle Studies Teacher... Oglevie stopped in mid-prattle and stared at him. The whole table was at attention.

"The what?" he stammered blankly. The fly was caught in the trap.

"The bus," Snape answered patiently. "The _Hogwarts_ bus. You know, the black one with the school's crest painted on the side, the one stored with the Thestral carriages?"

Everyone was very quiet. They probably hadn't known the bus existed either.

"That IS what you use, isn't it?" Severus continued. "Or do you take them out in your own car? I should think using the bus would be better for you. It would keep dirty little hands all off your property and allow you to make only _one _trip. Surely you aren't taking them all out individually?"

Oglevie looked uncomfortable. "Well, I don't take them out on the _road_... It's not in the curriculum..."

"Why not? It would be of _inestimable _value to them... don't you think?" Snape raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Cyrus looked affronted. "That would hardly be necessary! This is the _Wizarding World_. It's more than enough to understand the _science _of motoring. One doesn't have to know how to actually _pilot _such craft..."

"Really. But YOU know how to drive one... don't you Oglevie? You, with all your _extensive wealth of Muggle knowledge?_" Snape's soft, smooth spoken words had a venomous bite.

The Muggle Studies teacher was becoming angry. His face was red, and his normally smug, pompous manner seemed to have slipped. "I told you it wasn't necessary! We are _Wizards_, after all. We _learn _about Muggle life, not wallow in it! I don't need to _drive_ a car to _understand_ a car. Why, this is just foolishness.."

"So you _can't _drive one." Snape smiled. "I didn't think so," he added with curled lip. "But perhaps you should inform the minister of Magical Transport of this before you volunteer your services. I'm sure he DOES know how to drive."

Repressed sniggers bubbled furtively around the table. Snape had scored a hit.

"I'm sure YOU don't know how to drive one!" Oglevie shot back.

"You're right. I don't," Severus answered. "Like you, I am a classically trained wizard. The only person here who _does_ possess this knowledge is Filch. Now if you REALLY want to give your students a lesson they'll never forget, ask him to take you all for a ride. He'll be only too glad to do it. But be warned. You'll be taking your life in your hands, so have your wand at the ready!"

For once Oglevie said nothing. He looked too angry to speak, although that probably wasn't going to last. In the absence of his overactive mouth, others appeared poised to comment. Snape didn't look in the werewolf's direction, but he could see from out of the corner of his eye that Lupin was watching intently.

"I thought Muggle cars were supposed to be safe. Is Filch's driving really that bad?" Sinistra looked concerned.

"Dreadful! He makes my girls violently sick when he drives them to their athletic meets. I have a strong constitution, but many of the students aren't so fortunate-- and some are quite young. By the time they arrive at their Tournaments most of them are queasy or suffering from nerves. It's a tribute to how hard the team has worked that they have done as well as they have. I would dismiss Filch, but unfortunately I can't. He's the only one here who can drive the bus."

A few teachers made sympathetic sounds and Snape took pains not to look at Lupin. He also didn't look directly at Dumledore. The Headmaster was smiling, and Severus was unpleasantly sure the old man knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He also wasn't trying to stop it. Severus carefully said nothing more on the subject. The bait had been laid and everything now depended on Lupin's better nature-- and the werewolf had a notoriously better nature. Snape just had to have faith in the odds.

"Hold on a moment Snape!"

Severus barely paused as he walked down the hall, and he carefully composed his features. He loved it when a plan came together.

"Yes, Lupin?" His words were slightly cold, but courteous. He had to appear in-character, while not too discouraging.

"I couldn't help overhearing at the table that you're having trouble getting your cheerleaders to their meets."

Snape continued walking. "We get there," he said impassively, "It just doesn't happen in comfort."

"You might not realize it, Snape, but I can drive Muggle vehicles. I used to work as a taxi driver in London. It was one of the few jobs I could do that allowed me to set my hours around the moon's schedule. I used to drive a lorry too."

"Congratulations. And the significance is?"

"The significance is, Snape, that I could drive the Hogwarts bus. I know you didn't want my help the last time I offered it, but you might want to reconsider. If you have a driver that actually knows what he's doing, your team wouldn't get sick before the meets. It would be safer for them too. And I'd be glad to do it. I told you before that I'd be glad to help in any way I can."

_Sweet Merlin, he's almost groveling!_ _This is better than I ever expected._ _Can I make it last?_

Severus stopped and turned around very slowly. Inwardly he was counting to five. He made his expression look as if the idea was completely new and that he had never thought of it before.

"Hmm... " he said slowly, with feigned reluctance. "You know that _might_ actually be a good idea... Filch's driving _is_ horrendous. I can't imagine you'd be any worse, and I really am tired of nursemaiding sick witches every time we compete..." He paused, and then looked sharply at Lupin. "Are you certain you want to chauffeur sixteen silly, giggling girls all over Britain?"

"I don't mind."

"The bus is magical. It teleports. Can you handle that?"

"Even better."

"The job will most likely consume your entire day."

"If you can handle it, so can I."

"Our Tournament is this Saturday and we leave at 7:00AM sharp."

"I will be there."

"Good."

Did Snape have to thank him? He really didn't want to-- and chances were Lupin didn't expect it either. Since the Greasy Old Git wasn't known for his courtesy, it would seem out of character for him to start bestowing it now. Besides, the trap hadn't sprung completely... He started to walk away, and then stopped as if having a sudden afterthought.

"Oh, by the way, Lupin. The Tournament is likely to be extremely tedious and you will have to stay for the entire thing. Feel free to bring a companion with you... Or more if you wish. Perhaps that young Auror you keep company with. What's her name, Nymphadora...?"

"Tonks."

"Yes, yes, Miss Tonks. Bring her. Or perhaps her and some of her friends. You can make it a double date. Muggle crowds at Competitions can get extremely rowdy. There is a danger factor. Consider it safety in numbers."

Lupin's mild, careworn face brightened in amazement. He was obviously astounded that Severus should make such a suggestion. He also looked extremely gratified.

"Yes. I'll do that! Uh, thank you, Snape. Thanks a lot."

_Ah, life was good. Life was definitely good!_

"Don't mention it."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

"Why do we have to change our routine?" demanded Padma Patil.

We just finished getting the OTHER one right!" echoed Jerry Sweet.

"How are we gonna learn this in only ONE WEEK?" moaned Cynthia Moon.

The cheerleaders' faces were not only mutinous, they were scared. Confidence levels had just plummeted to the floor. It took all of Hermione's influence to keep the girls from dissolving into tears.

"There's not enough time! This is CRAZY!" wailed Parvati.

"Silence!" warned Professor Snape. "If I didn't think you capable, I wouldn't be asking you to do this. You CAN do this. It is only a few small changes. With discipline and hard work all of you will have this new version of the chant WordPerfect in a matter of days. I will make sure that you do."

"Don't worry," Hermione piped up. "This happens all the time! All teams change their routines between tournaments. No one likes it, but everyone does it. All the other teams we saw will be beefing up _their_ routines too."

"But we only have a week!" Harriet Ramsbottom looked obstinate.

"I've been in teams that had to change something in _less _than a week, or had to substitute new cheerleaders at the last minute. If they could do it, WE can do it. And we're a better team! You BET we'll nail this!"

"But this new stunt is too hard! I'm going to fall! " Feona Larivee whined.

"If you fall, I will give you detention!" growled Snape. "So I suggest you _don't_ fall. Get up there and try it again. Remember, I have my wand out. You don't think I'd let any _real_ harm come to you, do you? Any pain you experience will be transitory and will come from ME..."

"You can do it, Fee-fee! Twist-cradling only _looks _hard. The trick is to keep a steady point of reference so you don't get disoriented. Think of which direction you are _going_ to be facing and keep that in mind. I learned it so I know you can. You're a natural athlete! Come on, let's try it again!"

The little Hufflepuff looked from the stern face of their Advisor to the encouraging face of Hermione and turned back to her stunt group with a more determined air. Hermione glanced at the professor out of the corner of her eye. He glanced back at her. She was certain that little secret twitch of his lip was a smile.


	13. Better is as Better Does

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates

**Chapter 13: _Better is as Better Does _**

Snape sat in the judges box looking over the stands. He did his pointed best to ignore the Muggle judges on either side of him. Let them smirk. Let them snub him. Today was going to be different because this time his team had backup. Lupin, Tonks, and no less than four other wizard spectators were sitting in the Hogwarts bleacher section. And they even had a banner-- a huge, silk, black and gold creation ornately embroidered with the words "Hogwarts Flyers," and with the shields of the four Houses emblazoned upon it.

_Too bad I can't make it do something interesting like glow, or shoot sparks, or even sing! But I can't use magic here. Sometimes life just isn't fair! _

But even if he had brought a singing banner, all the noise in the place would have drowned it out. A warlike chant was currently blasting out of gigantic loudspeakers and echoing through the arena like a barrage from Hell. Severus couldn't hear it in all its awful glory because of his earplugs, but he could feel it throbbing through the floor. What sort of people made songs out of shouted militant poetry with screaming as part of the percussion? This was art? _Thank you Miss Granger for these blessed plugs! _

Strangely, he felt a momentary pang at seeing Lupin in the stands. Perhaps he should have offered him a set of earplugs too. Werewolves had hypersensitive hearing and the poor wretch was probably being tortured. Normally, Snape would have loved to inflict pain on his old enemy, but today Lupin didn't feel like an enemy. Because he was here with the team, technically he was an _ally _. It was a very odd thought. Tonks, he observed, didn't seem to mind the noise at all. She appeared to be enjoying herself tremendously. And with her wild shock of brilliantly pink hair, she fit right in...

He wondered wryly what Lupin's expression had been when he realized he'd been duped. Snape had provided his little group of spectators with everything they needed to make a response from the stands. He had brought pom-poms. He had brought flags. He had brought streamers and balloons. And he had supplied a large box of noisemakers, as well as printed cue sheets telling them when, and what, they were to yell during the chant. Surely by now the werewolf had figured out the real reason he was here, and _how _Snape had managed to get him here. Would he refuse to cooperate?

Further thought, however, only caused a smirk. The chances were that Lupin still didn't realize. Few Gryffindors possessed any subtlety-- the only exception he knew being Miss Granger. _And she had obviously been mis-sorted! _The werewolf had probably taken the props in complete innocence. Of course if the man didn't USE them, Snape would make him very sorry indeed. Next time he'd make them wear cute little hats...

The crowd in this place looked rougher and rowdier than usual. Half the boys resembled tattooed Maoris or wild Amazon headhunters. One young fool, naked but for a pair of purple boxers, was gyrating around to the perverse tom-tom beat, his body painted purple and his chest bearing a slogan for his team. And he wasn't the only one wearing warpaint. Hordes of youths all over had painted their faces with school colors. Some wore bizarre costumes with headdresses.

Snape shook his head over this wild display. He guessed that the goons wearing eye patches and waving hooks were the "Pirates" while the rowdies sporting feathers must be the "Braves" or the "Warriors." Merlin only knew what the the blue-faced boyos in tartan plaid were. The "Chieftains?" The "Highlanders?" He couldn't help but shiver.

Of course wizards did their share of showing off at Quiddich games. He hadn't gone to the World Cup but he had heard all the stories from those who had. Students put on little fan-shows at the inter-house Quiddich games too (Miss Lovegood's roaring lion hat stood out in his mind.) But somehow this Muggle display seemed more unnerving. It was like viewing blood-thirsty Aztecs or ancient wild Celts. Now that he thought of it, the warrior clans of the Founder's era would have felt right at home here.

On the lighter side, mascots abounded. As Snape watched, a giant badger dressed in a purple jersey was doing what looked like the limbo in front of the stands. Every time it lowered itself to its knees, the crowd in front of it roared. _Amazing._

"Well, Mr. Snape. Welcome to Mistlethwaite Public," said the plump, blond judge. She sounded smugly proud .

_So this barbaric looking place is HER school! _Well, there was no need for her to sound so self satisfied! Severus couldn't help thinking that compared to the last two facilities he had seen, this arena looked a little worn and shabby. But it had been decorated fanatically with artful, elaborate zeal in the school's colors of blue and gold. The local denizens had made the best of what they had.

Balloons and streamers hung everywhere, making the place flash and flicker with blue and gold. Posters had been hung as well as flags. On the wall, under the scoreboard and above the trophys, was a painting of a really nasty looking ram in the very act of a horns-down charge. The thing looked positively rabid. Banners proclaiming **"Ram it!"** or **"Ram it hard!"** hung around it. Severus gaped. _Unbelievable!_

The blond judge noticed the direction of his gaze. "What do you think of our decorations?" she asked with a bit of a simper. "Our girls have been laboring for days!"

"Charming," he managed to reply.

She obviously didn't like his tone. "Perhaps YOU will host a Tournament next year and return the hospitality. That way we'll all get to see how spirited _your _school is!"

_Heaven forbid! _Snape really hoped that Dumbledore wouldn't get the idea. It would be just the sort of thing he'd like too. Snape had a sudden, horrified vision of a Muggle Cheerleading Competition held in the Great Hall, with himself and all the other teachers frantically trying to keep errant bits of magic (not to mention the ghosts and Peeves) out of sight. Every dunderheaded prankster would have a field day. _Good thing the Weasley twins are out of school! They'd be feeding sick-making sweets to the entire miserable lot! Imagine the trouble... the mess!_

"Thankfully, that won't be possible," he said stiffly. "Hogwarts lacks an indoor athletic facility."

"You don't have a gymnasium?" the blond Muggle exclaimed in joyful, scandalized surprise. "How incredibly Medieval!"

_It's a CASTLE woman. That IS sort of the idea..._

"I thought you came from one of those posh boarding schools,"chimed in another judge. "Surely you can afford a _gym_! Whatever does all that expensive tuition go to? Or is someone pocketing it?"

That was just too much. "For your information _madam, _we have an astronomy tower, experimental greenhouses, a theoretical Physics workshop, and a state-of-the-art Po... Chemistry Lab!"

"_Potions!" _laughed the blond judge derisively.

Snape curled his lip. "Hogwarts is a school for the highly _gifted,_" he said frostily. "We stress academics over sports, the brain over the brawn."

Of course that was a load of dragon tripe. _My colleagues would laugh themselves silly if they ever heard that! Half the students are majoring in Quiddich, and the staff are actually encouraging them!_

"Well you know what they say Mr. Snape," drawled a dark haired judge with mocking half-lidded eyes. "All work and no play make Johnny... or in this case, Janie... very dull indeed. But if you don't mind me asking, considering your school's "academic aversion" to sports, why the sudden interest in Cheerleading? Why don't you stick to science and not bother at all?"

Severus grimaced sourly. "Our headmaster feels we need to broaden our horizons. He feels that our participation will promote greater understanding between schools and encourage diplomacy."

The judges near enough to actually hear that burst into laughter.

"Diplomacy!" one of them choked. "Oh that's rich!"

"Are you sure it isn't _negative _diplomacy?"

They all laughed harder at that.

"Well I must say Mr. Snape, you're doing a FINE job!" sniggered one of them.

"As are all of _you_," he replied with venom.

Startled, resentful looks replaced the mirth on the judges' faces and the laughter quickly faded. A few of them muttered and looked away uncomfortably. It appeared that Snape had scored a point.

During the practice rounds he concentrated on carefully watching the various routines. As before, he took detailed notes, doing his best to get a feel for each team's capabilities. Only a few of the teams were new to him. Most of them he remembered from the last tournament. _But, thankfully, the Queerleader and his brood didn't come today. At least I'm spared that! _He also saw a lot of newly beefed-up routines.

Many of the returning groups performed better than they had last time, and he was more than a little certain that he was to blame for that. His harsh, meticulous grading had taught them all a lesson. These teams were more careful. They had learned. It wasn't going to be easy for him to deduct points for stupid or careless errors today. But he supposed this was only natural and no cause for real worry. After all, stronger opponents made for more rewarding victories. His team had to be just as strong. He hoped Miss Granger was counseling the girls about this.

"I see you've changed your team's routine," came a comment from his right.

"Yes," he answered shortly.

"Why did you think to do that?" This Muggle was irritatingly persistent.

"To make it better, _obviously,_" he replied though clenched teeth. "From what I understand it is commonplace. Only fools fail to learn from their mistakes. Most of the teams have made some changes," he pointed out. "_Yours _has done so as well."

"Tsk. Tsk. If you were going to change something, why not remove the material you copied from us? I notice _that _part of your routine is the same!"

"Is it? Well I wouldn't know. Since I DIDN'T copy anyone's routine, and I never saw the one I am supposed to have stolen, I have no idea which part you are referring to! And were I inclined, under the impetus of inter-school diplomacy, to actually _appease_ you, I wouldn't have a glimmer concerning which elements to change. My innocence ties my hands."

"That's what a thief would _naturally_ say."

"I'm sure it takes one to know one, Madam."

The last team had finished their practice run and, predictably, things began to heat up. As before, hordes of spectators were starting to pour into the arena and scramble up onto the stands. The tempo of the atmosphere, one of charged anticipation, was building. Noise levels were rising steadily as more and more fans filled the stands. Snape looked for Lupin and the others and found the little group being slowly dwarfed by the numbers around them.

Groups of girls were dancing on the sidelines as the music rose in volume. Some of the songs he knew.

**The Love Shack is a little old place where**

**we can get to-gether!**

**Love Shack, ba-a-by!**

**Love Shack! Baby, Love Shack!**

**Love Shack! That's where it's at!**

_Oh please, not THAT one! _Snape thanked the fates (and Miss Granger) that his earplugs blocked out the worst of the song. He saw her dancing with the rest of the team and looked away quickly. It was the most prudent thing he could do. Miss Granger reminded him of a Siren when she danced and the association of her lithesome form and a "love shack" was not a safe idea. He concentrated his attention on the other spectators and the Muggles swarming in.

Some official looking Muggles were dragging cables over to a sort of scaffolding, and when Snape surveyed it he recognized the tell-tale shape of cameras on its heights. _Cameras! This was being televised? Sweet Merlin! The LAST thing the Ministry would want was wizards on Muggle television! Did they know? _They probably didn't know, and Severus wasn't going to tell them. The Ministry might pull the team and then they'd never get a chance to win! And it wasn't as if anyone would actually recognize them. Few wizards paid attention to Muggle media anyway.

The anticipation was becoming palpable. People were getting agitated, and hoots and hollers were sounding. With a loud shout, one youth wearing an orange and black striped jersey began to take a jog around the mat. His face was painted like a Bengal tiger, and he held a large flag with streamers on it that he waved over his head as he ran. When he passed a group of orange-clad spectators, they all went wild. After he had made the circuit, more toughs with painted chests pranced by, howling and shaking their fists in the air. Rowdies in the stands yelled and beat noisemakers.

Snape observed such antics with a sober frown. Mistlethwaite was in North Yorkshire. Hadn't this part of Britain been peopled by Vikings? And it really wasn't that far from ancient Pict territory either. Apparently Cheerleading brought out primordial behavior. Who knew what sort of mayhem could happen! After all, didn't Muggles kill each other at football matches? Severus dearly wished he had a real, full sized wand with him instead of just his ring-wand. In an emergency, he wanted proper protection...

But of course he was probably overreacting. This event was being recorded. It was highly doubtful even _these_ people would comit real violence in front of a camera! At least he hoped they wouldn't. This was just the silliness of air-headed athletic types letting off steam before the competitive battle. Their dubious idea of fun, like the dancing and the mascots-- the warlike mingling with the childlike.

The plethora of mascots cavorting about them was absolutely ridiculous. They were comic relief to all the painted hooligans trying to incite riot. The dancing ram with the doe eyes and up-curled lashes looked more pretty than fierce, and the huge gray dog staging a face-off with the Limbo-loving badger was a study in the absurd. The fact that each team had a Muggle willing to wear the stupid costumes was more absurd still. Of course his team didn't have one.

Snape considered. Should Hogwarts have a mascot? Should it be a snake, a lion, a raven, or a badger? All four? _Oh, that would be a sight! Talk about confusion!_ _Four mascots, and all of them_ _fighting each other!_ That was no good. Still, he wanted them on par with all the other teams. What would be neutral enough for all four houses? A winged pig? A dragon? _No, No, No... _An owl? Well, now there was an idea! But who could he get to play it? Filch would take on a troll, armed only with a mop, before he'd wear a costume for the team.

There had to be a better way to get attention. Perhaps he should give his team extra accouterments: black and gold boas or rabbit ears, oversize glasses or perhaps unicorn horns. But that was silly. What rubbish was he thinking? The team didn't need to catch the eye in a demeaning way. Better he should give such things to his new group of spectators. After all, he wanted _them_ to attract attention-- to make a spectacle. Looking over at them, he saw they were doing a fine job already.

Any doubts Severus once had about bringing wizards to this loud Muggle setting dissipated like smoke in the breeze. They all appeared to be having an excellent time-- Tonks especially. Snape couldn't help recoiling at the sight of her. _Ouch! That magenta hair would cure any sane man of temptation! _But apparently Lupin wasn't sane. He was gazing at that wild witch with eyes full of puppy dog lust. If he was any more obvious his tongue would be lolling. So much for faculty propriety...

_What do you get when you cross a werewolf with a metemorphagus? A monster that transforms into anything it pleases right before it rips out your throat! Sweet Merlin, I REALLY hope that pair doesn't breed true! Will wolfsbane even work on a hybrid? No doubt they'll all expect ME to come up with the modifications for it..._

However, despite Snape's aversion to the outrageous looking auror, he had to admit she was the ideal fan for his team. Her crazy get-up and bright, animated enthusiasm was just the thing to attract attention. Tonks was really getting into it, and her contagious enjoyment was spilling over to all those around her. She was the very antithesis of Filch. At that moment, she was dancing in the stands, waving a pom-pom, and singing along to the ditty that seemed to be a part of every Cheerleading rally:

**Oh, Mickey you're so fine!**

**You're so fine you blow my mind!**

**Hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!**

**Oh, Mickey what a pity you don't understand.**

**You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand... **

It was almost too painful to watch. The other wizards were behaving with a bit more decorum, but even they were bouncing back and forth with her to the beat of that song. Well, he never would have believed it, but bringing that crazy witch along had been absolutely providential! And if they all made the proper amount of noise when they were supposed to, things just might go as planned. Lupin caught him looking in their direction and waved cheerily at him. Snape nodded and turned back to center stage.

"_Friends _of yours? sniffed one of the Muggle judges.

"No. I don't have friends. Those are fans of the team."

She rolled her eyes. "It figures." Snape ignored her.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione danced along with the rest of the girls, enjoying herself immensely. This was the funnest Competition they had been to yet! The fans were spirited, the decorations were cute, and all the mascots walking around really made the experience interesting. She didn't mind the fact that Hogwarts didn't have their own mascot. They were a new team after all. It took a while to accumulate extra trappings. They had only just acquired a banner.

No, it would take a while before Hogwarts had a mascot. What would they use for it? Each House already had their own. They couldn't use just one, they couldn't use them all, and there was no way they could bring along a "Flyer"on a broom to a Muggle setting! She did think it might be possible to use something else, but it would have to have magical meaning. A dragon perhaps, or a phoenix... _Hey!_ _That was a great idea!_ And Dumbledore would love it too. She'd have to suggest it to Professor Snape.

The professor was the reason this Tournament was turning out to be a much better experience. First and foremost, he had found another driver. Hermione and all the rest of the team had been delightedly surprised to find Professor Lupin in the driver's seat instead of Filch. They had been even more happy to discover extra passengers on board. Tonks with her wild hair and her ability to morph was a more than welcome diversion. And with chaperones other than stern and proper Snape, the atmosphere was much more relaxed. The bus, being magical of course, expanded to accommodate everyone.

And this explained the puzzle that had been perplexing them all ever since they began altering their routine to make it more audience responsive. _Who in the world was going to respond to them? _Their only fan in the stands had been Filch, and they all agreed that they were better off without him. But when asked concerning this problem, Professor Snape had invariably answered, "That is my concern, not yours. Leave it to me to take care of." He certainly had.

The trip down had been highly entertaining... and instructive too. Tonks had been screamingly funny, and very enthusiastic about seeing a new sport. Neither she, nor any of her auror friends, knew anything at all about Cheerleading. After a few discretely asked questions, it appeared that she had come through an invitation from Lupin who, in turn, explained that Professor Snape had allowed-- and even encouraged-- him to bring as many people as he wanted. Tonks whispered excitedly to Hermione that this was their first real "group date," and seemed to think Professor Snape had acted as matchmaker.

The young Gryffindor tried very hard not to choke. Severus Snape would take up matchmaking the day he danced ballet! His serpentine reasons for getting Tonks and her beloved together in one place had been far more pragmatic and selfish. Snape wanted spectators, and he wanted good ones (Tonks could be a cheer section all on her own.) He also wanted a bus driver who didn't make them all sick. Hermione wondered _how _he had maneuvered Remus Lupin, whom he famously disliked, into being part of the team effort.

It obviously hadn't been a straightforward method. Their guests seemed completely ignorant of the purpose for which they had been invited. None of them appeared to realize they were going to cheer for the cheerleaders and help them win their Competition. Indeed, they all seemed to think that they were only coming to see a "good show" and have a lot of fun. Hermione realized that she was in the presence of a masterfully executed Slytherin coup.

Snape, himself, ignored the guests. Beyond an initial curt greeting, he didn't even look in their direction. He sat in his customary seat behind the driver, with earplugs in to block them all out, and nonchalantly perused a potions journal. From his expression of taciturn boredom, it appeared that it was all one to him. But that obviously just couldn't be! The professor had expended a tremendous amount of effort to get the team ready-- memorizing volumes of material, devising strategy, and giving up hours of his time to help them practice.

But Lupin and the others couldn't possibly know that... As far as they were concerned, Snape was still the insufferably nasty git who hated having to advise the team. Why couldn't the professor be straight with them? Why did Slytherins view everything as a game? Why the constant jockeying for control and dominance?

Of course there was more to the situation than it appeared. The professors had a mutual history and it hadn't been pleasant. Many times Hermione had felt that Professor Lupin, nice though he could be, was a little less than respectful to Professor Snape. There were often hints of condescending humor in Lupin's voice when he addressed his colleague, little wisps of innuendo in his words when faced with Snape's antipathy. Snape frequently gave the impression he was gritting his teeth in the other man's presence, and Lupin, bizarrely, seemed to be both enjoying Snape's discomfort and trying also to be his friend.

Hermione couldn't help but admire the steel-edged determination and the wily resourcefulness that had led the Potions master to swallow his pride enough to accept assistance from a man he disliked, all the while maneuvering that same man into giving the assistance without actually being aware of it. She had to admit; that was pure Snape, as well as being pure genius.

And it was turning out wonderfully. Lupin really was a much better driver than Filch. It was amazing how pleasant the trip was without the too sharp turns, the jarring bumps, and all the scary near misses. Nobody suffered from nerves along the way or developed motion sickness, and Muggles from Scotland to North Yorkshire were safe from being impaled on the front of the bus. However, Hermione felt that at times he was almost _too_ gentle a driver...

"Everybody hold on. We're going to teleport shortly. Get ready. I'll give the signal. One.. two... three..." **BANG! **"OK, now? Everybody fine? Good! Let me know if you're not and I'll try to be more careful..."

It really was a bit much. Hermione had noticed their Advisor roll his eyes as he turned the page of his journal, and she had to work very hard to suppress a laugh. But if Snape could keep up a poker face in the midst of all this, then surely so could she. For some reason, although she couldn't quite understand why, this was almost as fun as watching Tonks' morphing antics.

Once they had all arrived, moving them all in was easier than ever. Now there were more people to carry their supplies (which had grown to _two _hampers,) and more hands to fasten up the banner and cordon off an appropriate area. Muggle stands were very much like wizard stands. Since all of them were avid Quiddich fans, there had been no trouble for them finding and making a Hogwarts cheering section. They had also been enchanted by the contents of the second hamper.

"Look! Noisemakers! Horns, bell, clackers... we've got everything! And look at these wonderful balloons... Come on, Remus, help me blow them up! We get to do it by hand just like Muggles! Oh this is the best fun..."

Hermione had been so entertained that she had decided to purchase a performance video for each of them. That way they would all have a souvenir of of today's Competition. Not that they would have any way of PLAYING these videos, but it would be an encouragement for them to investigate Muggle technology. She hoped that the team would do well. So often it seemed that when a video crew was present, teams made extra mistakes out of nerves. _Well, that was why she wasn't telling them about the videos! They were wizards. They didn't really know what all that equipment was! _

As far as all the other teams having improved (she couldn't help but notice that,) Hermione reassured the other girls that _they _had improved as well. Besides, tough competition made for sweeter victories. And this time they hadn't come alone. They had fans, and that would make all the difference.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

After the customary mangling of "God Save the Queen," (_save us all from bad singing please!) _the competition was underway. The hosting team, girls clad in blue uniforms with glittery gold knickers, careened over the mat to the blaring sounds of: **"I like it! I like it!" **The blond Muggle next to him applauded the team with fond, adoring eyes. The ridiculous "ram" mascot cavorted next to the girls and waved to the crowd.

Snape took another glance at his spectators. Had they opened the box yet? They must have because one of them had blown up the balloons... _But had they found the cue sheets? Did they know what to do?_ Severus had made sure everything was labeled and obvious. By now, their role should have been clear enough, but he wasn't dealing with mental giants. Aurors were usually Gryffindor types-- bold, brave fighters, not great thinkers. Too bad he couldn't really see what they were holding in their hands at this distance. He hoped it was noisemakers.

The Hogwarts team was scheduled to perform late in the list, and Snape set his nerves to survive the waiting. He watched, and with each successive team's performance, made careful additions to his notes. Despite the fact that most teams had improved their routines, they didn't seem to perform as well as he had expected from their practice runs. He noticed girls glancing warily up at the cameras on the scaffolding. _Ah, that's the problem. They all know they are being recorded! This might be an advantage... _

Nobody on the Hogwarts team looked particularly nervous. None of them were looking up at the cameras-- not even Miss Granger, and she HAD to know they were there. Snape smiled when he realized what she was doing. The brilliant little Gryffindor knew that most witches wouldn't recognize motion picture equipment, and he watched her keep up a distracting conversation with the only other Muggleborn, who would. Why this seemed to be working with Miss Creevey, who's brother Colin was a photo-nut, Snape had no idea. Perhaps, like her brothers, the poor child was simply _thick._

**"Hogwarts Flyers, on the mat!"**

Snape looked quickly up at his captive fans to see what they would do. As the Hogwarts girls ran out onto the mat, Tonks whooped and ran a cowbell. Her auror companions clacked castanets and blew horns. _Good! Make some noise. Come on, Lupin, you too! That's why you're here! _For a second Snape thought about zapping the werewolf to make him at least yell in pain, but Tonks saved him the trouble. She shoved a set of black and gold maracas into her lover's hands and administered a joyful, significant nudge. Lupin hesitated for a split second, but then proceeded to enthusiastically shake them about. _So, he CAN be taught! Thank you, Nymphadora. I knew I could count on you. _

The girls finished their tumbling round and formed up for the chant.

**We're the team that can't be beat!**

**Flyers! You know it!**

"WE KNOW IT!" their fans shouted

**F – L – Y – E – R – S !**

**FLYERS! THE BEST!**

"YES!"

**We're here today. We're here to win!**

**We're high above the rest!**

"YES!"

**F – L – Y – E – R – S!**

**FLYERS! THE BEST!**

"THE BEST!"

Most of the girls formed a pyramid while others did gymnastics around them. Placards were passed up to the fliers on top.

**GO FLYERS GO!**

"GO FLYERS GO!"

**FLY SO HIGH!**

"FLY SO HIGH!"

**GO FLYERS GO!**

"GO FLYERS GO!"

**TOUCH **( CLAP! CLAP! ) **THE SKY! **

Snape relaxed. That had gone off without a hitch, though up to this point it hadn't been easy. It had taken a full day to get little Miss Larrivee to be able to catch that second placard, but with the concerted efforts of both himself and Miss Granger she had finally mastered it. And now, when it really counted, she had done it perfectly. They had all performed perfectly. He felt an attack of smugness coming on. _The Hogwarts team was one of the best ones here! _And their fans had done what they were supposed to. No WAY were they going to get a zero for "crowd appeal" today!

The judges were scratching notes on their score sheets. They didn't look condescending, neither did they appear scornful, but they didn't seem pleased with what they had seen either. It was obvious they didn't like the fact that their chosen underdog wasn't content to stay last. _Well, deal with it Ladies! _This time they couldn't deny his girls the win that they deserved. They HAD to get first place!

Most of the judges didn't look at him and the few who deigned to glance his way did so with narrowed eyes. Severus shrugged. So they were chewing on sour grapes. If he had his way they'd be eating CROW... _and choking on it! _There would be no more mention of "Hog-wash" or any of the other insults they had thrown at him. There was nothing better than a fair-square victory, a clear demonstration of superiority, to put an enemy in its place.

But when the last team had finished, and the points were being tallied, it appeared that their victory was incomplete after all. Hogwarts didn't have enough points to put them first. _How could that have happened? They had the best performance here today! _Snape went furiously over every line item until he found the culprit-- five points off for a "fundamental rules violation." What rule could they possibly have violated?

The blond judge had been watching his reaction. "We took the required five points off for a time violation. You need to be careful of such things, Mr. Snape."

"TIME VIOLATION? What in the world are you talking about?" he demanded.

"When you changed your routine, you made it just a teensy little bit too long. It went over the designated time limit by ten seconds."

"Ten _seconds?_" he fumed. _"TEN BLOODY SECONDS?" _

"There's no need for such language, Mr. Snape," a brunette judge purred. "Your routine _was _over the limit."

"We timed it."

"Ten seconds over."

"That's against the rules."

"You HAVE read the rules. Haven't you, Mr. Snape?"

It was all Severus could do to keep from hexing everyone in sight. Mushroom clouds in his immediate vicinity seemed a dangerous possibility. Ten seconds indeed! _Talk about nit-picking! _These vengeful biddies had done this deliberately!

"You nasty, _spiteful, _insufferable bi--"

"_What's_ nasty, Mr. Snape? Points taken off for missing hair ribbons?"

"Or a flipped skirt?"

"Or perhaps placards just a little bit over the line?"

They all smiled in canary-fed feline triumph.

"OUR placards were placed _precisely _where they should be!" he hissed.

"Yes, we did notice that," a judge conceded. "But we caught you on your time. We caught you quite securely."

"Nobody's perfect, Mr. Snape, even though some of us think we are..."

Severus fumed all through the annoying dance, and watched darkly as his glowing team screamed in triumph as they went up to get their second place trophy. He didn't let it show, however. The Hogwarts team really thought they had achieved victory. To them, second was better than they had ever scored before and they were proud of it. The last thing he wanted to do was rob them of their feeling of glory. Winners needed to feel and think like winners-- if they expected to go on winning. It was a concept all Slytherins understood.

Miss Granger beamed over at him and he managed to smile back at her. _Sweet Merlin, she was beautiful when she smiled! _She was beautiful all the time actually... Not that he should be thinking about it, but he really couldn't help it. He HAD to find a way to give Miss Granger the victory she deserved. He curled his lip slightly at the sight of Tonks, Lupin, and the rest of them bouncing over to the girls to hug them and give them congratulations. He wished that he, himself could do that-- hug Miss Granger, not the rest of them. _You're spoiling my view, you imbeciles! _

"Better luck next time, Mr. Snape."

"Luck will have nothing to do with it!"

"Luck ALWAYS has something to do with it."

"That and cooperation."

"That's right. Why don't you remove the 'borrowed' portion of your routine? Cooperation could go a long way towards improving your luck."

So that was it! These conniving old _cats _were going to keep punishing his team-- all because they had an _asinine _idea that their routine had been stolen. It hadn't, of course. Miss Granger had come up with it, and she had been laid up in hospital throughout the last Competition season. She COULDN'T have copied it from anyone! But these tabbies didn't know that. And they wouldn't believe it. Once an idiot managed to get an idea into his (or her) head it was very difficult to get it out. He felt rage bubbling up.

"FINE!" he spat. "_FINE! _I'll change the routine. And since I honestly have no _BLOODY _idea which parts seem stolen to you, I'll change the _whole blasted thing!_ This is TOTALLY against my principle, but when one is dealing with unprincipled people, one has to follow SUIT!"

He realized at this point that he probably sounded a little unbalanced and that didn't really help his situation, so he lowered his voice before continuing.

"My girls have worked hard and they deserve recognition for it. NONE of them are thieves or cheats. I'm not either, and I am _sincerely _insulted that you believe that I am!" It was with withering frost that he concluded, "I will see you at the next Tournament, and I expect better treatment from all of you when we meet!"

"Better is, as better _does_, Mr. Snape!" was the parting shot.

He walked stiffly away to rejoin his team.


	14. Slytherin Honor and a Private Dance Part

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 14: **_**Slytherin Honor and a Private Dance Party **_

Hermione knew Snape wasn't happy even if he pretended to be proud of their second place win. The Potions master never seemed happy about anything, but even the non-sanguine had differing levels of discontent. Besides, she had seen him laugh before, which had proved he could smile, and she had long known he was capable of humor. He just rarely showed that humor where others could see.

His sourness seemed part of a mask-- the face of a careful poker player keeping his cards to himself. Snape pretended to only feel negative emotions but, as Hermione had seen, that simply wasn't so. There was a lot of positive in Professor Snape-- positives like loyalty and honor. The professor cared about things and he did so with passion. He cared about his world, his school, and the advancement of knowledge. And he cared enough to protect his students even if he personally disliked them.

Snape was an enigma, but one that had long intrigued Hermione. She had watched him carefully and felt confident now of interpreting his moods-- which was why she was certain that though he tried to hide it, he was deeply and furiously angry. But here it all became murky. If Snape was angry at her or the team he would have shown it. He never would have spared them. So who was he mad at? Some of the judges hadn't seemed very friendly. Did this have to do with them? Or did Snape blame _himself_ for their lack of perfection? _Why was it so important to be first?_ It had to be that Slytherin thing.

Slytherin had been the champion house before the Gryffindor "Dream Team" had arrived, but that hadn't always been the case. Hermione, always curious, had done some research. Hogwarts kept meticulous records, not only of which House won the cup, but how many points had been awarded, and to whom. The information had been illuminating. Slytherin had indeed enjoyed a winning streak, but it had started precisely when Professor Snape became their head.

Before Snape had joined the staff, Slytherin had not had a stellar record. In the twenty years prior to his employment, they had won the House cup only twice, and on very narrow margins. It amazed Hermione that Slytherin, the house of competitive overachievers, had once been one of the lowest scoring in the school. It was also interesting to note that one of their victories (and quite a few near misses) were due to the efforts of a student named S. Snape.

So it had been _Snape_ responsible for the Slytherin rising star. He had taken a losing team and had turned them into winners—something many a sports team would love to recruit him for. Students grumbled that Slytherins won from favoritism, but Hermione knew that wasn't totally true. Slytherins played rough in Quiddich, stuck to each other like glue, and could be quite nasty, but they weren't a bunch of screw-ups. They did work extremely hard. Even Draco Malfoy, a notorious troublemaker, had been a good student. The only one who had scored constantly higher than him had been... herself.

Was that why Professor Snape had always been so hostile to her-- because she helped end the Slytherin reign? Part of her reaction was natural indignation. Surely one couldn't win all the time! Expecting to do so was selfish and even presumptuous! But another part of her understood him perfectly. She had never really thought of herself as competitive, yet always she had striven for perfection. Never had Hermione been content to do less than the best-- _and she_ _had wanted everyone to see it! _She had to be the top student, and when she had reached a level where others no longer challenged her, she still competed against _herself. _She also enjoyed making Gryffindor win.

How must Snape have felt to be placed in a house falling consistently last? Had their roles been reversed, how would _she _have felt? Hermione wouldn't have liked it and would probably have tried to change it, but would she have been as successful? She had grave doubts there. She alone wasn't responsible for the Gryffindor rise to fame. Harry Potter and the school's benevolent attitude toward him had done that. Hermione had certainly played a part, but it had been a Potter-dominated process. And it hadn't actually been fair either, because Harry really hadn't been an exceptional student. No wonder Snape had disliked him.

It would take an idiot not to notice the anti-Slytherin bias that permeated Hogwarts. Hermione had once assumed it was because of so many former Slytherins associated with the dark arts, but lots of students from all houses found dark magic fascinating. Only recently she had overheard a group of Ravenclaws complaining about being forbidden to learn it. Knowledge, after all, was knowledge. Shouldn't everything deserve study? And what was it that made some magic dark? Wasn't it the_ intent_ to cause harm that crossed the line? If one truly didn't intend harm...

Perhaps it was thinking like this that caused so much of the troubles in the past. Perhaps it was also the reason that led many Muggles to pursue martial training or own assault weapons, always contending that their motives were benign. At least most of those Muggle martial arts included a heavy dose of restraining philosophy-- a code of honor-- that kept adherents from abusing their power. And of course where power existed, there were always those that abused it.

Snape had once abused his power, but he had found a way to change. He had embraced some sort of restraining philosophy and had successfully turned his knowledge _against_ the powers of darkness. Even Harry Potter had to concede that the battle couldn't have been won without the professor-- not that he liked admitting it... Harry still hated him, and the thanks Snape had got had been grudging. Even now, while Harry and Ron were blissfully pursuing careers in Quiddich, they still owled her warnings about Snape's Slytherin influence over her team. Why the continual bias against Slytherin?

It had to be something more than just the dark arts. Most Slytherins were no more dark than anyone else, yet all the houses were aligned against them. What would cause Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws to all agree at the start of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, "We can't have a Slytherin champion!" _Well, why not?_ Why hate them so? True, Slytherins didn't seem to like the other houses, but if a bias against them really existed, why should they? Where had that bias come from?

Hermione suddenly wondered if it wasn't just sour grapes. For all their supposed subtlety, Slytherins were openly ambitious and made no secret of their desire to come out on top-- in life as well as in school. True their founder, Salazar Slytherin had been a proud, ambitious man (and from what Hermione had read, a bit of a pill,) but most people had ambitions. It was unnatural not to. For some reason, however, it wasn't considered polite to advertise them, just as it was seen as unfashionably rude to continually display one's excellence, as Hermione had learned to her chagrin.

But why not display it? Why pretend not to know the answer when one obviously did? Why pretend to be uninterested in power and success (whatever success was for you) when EVERYBODY, not just Slytherins, wanted these things? Why were _Slytherins _considered bad-natured, sneaky, and selfish when all people were likewise afflicted? Slytherins were just straightforward about it. Of course when people honest about their ambition actually showed success in achieving it, as they had under Snape's masterful leadership, those with lesser achievement came to resent them.

Then there was always that silly Slytherin fascination with ancestry, but the most intelligent among them knew it was all bunk! Plenty of Slytherins over the years had had less than pure wizard blood. But perhaps it was mostly a _defensive _reaction. Stupid, of course, but possibly understandable...

How had Professor Snape felt at her age? Had there been an anti-Slytherin bias then? Hermione was sure there had been. Extraordinary numbers of points had been awarded to past Gryffindors such as James Potter and Sirius Black-- men who she _knew _had been troublemakers as boys. She also knew there had been a rivalry between them and Snape. How would she have felt if her brilliance had always been eclipsed because of some bias? _As it some ways actually had. _She would have worked harder, of course, and with greater determination... and possibly anger. No wonder Snape couldn't stand to loose.

Hermione's own ambition had been primarily directed at herself. But that was because there seemed little or no obstacles in the way of her success. Severus Snape had always struggled against obstacles-- the greatest of them being the house he was placed in. So he had included his house in his ambitions and dragged them all with him in his quest for recognition... and he had succeeded. How many others could do something like that? Her friends complained about Slytherin influence. _Why, that influence_ _was the BEST thing that had happened to their team!_

Because Hermione's original goal in cheerleading had only been to be the best _she _could be, it didn't matter to her if the team received tropheys. She had been getting her kudos from helping the school. Just forming the team had been her achievement. It was Professor Snape who had made them a successful team and he had done so by identifying with it and making their success his own. Ambition was supposed to be selfish, but there was something _unselfish_ in this sort of identification, this mother-hen/drill sergeant type of care. How could anyone not see it as the noble thing that it was?

So Snape wanted them to be first. _Well, why not? _What was wrong with that? He appeared to be ambitious for them for his own sake, but it wasn't only his own. They all benefited. Team members walked with more assurance and dignity. Team discipline had spilled out into school discipline. No cheerleaders were falling behind in their studies no matter how long they spent practicing, and no one on the team was doing mediocre work. Hermione reasoned that if this was Slytherin influence, then _bring on the Slytherins!_ This silly bias had to disappear. There had to be cooperation between all the houses. Her own cooperation with the professor could lead the way!

She wanted to help Snape get his victory. It would be a way to repay him for all the hard work he had put in for them. But it was more than just that. Hermione felt she understood him, and she wanted to let him know that she understood. There was something about his brilliance and determination that was very much like her own, and she really liked the fact that he now seemed to appreciate her.

The respect for her she saw in his eyes warmed her. She felt gratified whenever he spoke to her as an equal. The evening they had worked together to change the chant had been one of the most enjoyable she had ever spent. It had been fun working with a mind as quick, or perhaps quicker, than her own, and she had relished the times she had verbally sparred with him. It was even nice that he seemed to appreciate her appearance too... _But she shouldn't think of things like that! It really wasn't seemly... _

Perhaps he could use her help again. Would he be agreeable if she went to him and offered her services? Hermione had stayed away from the Professor-- since from the beginning he had obviously wished for her to stay away-- but things appeared to be different now. And the last time they had put their heads together they had had a good result. Surely they could do it again. Hermione got up and headed for Snape's dungeon office with a sprightly step. It was for the good of the team, after all.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape sat at his desk amid a pile of cheerleading manuals and score sheets. He had barely two weeks to overhaul the team's routine before the next competition. Just two weeks to perform the magic-- or miracle-- that would satisfy those bitchy Muggle judges and get the team first place. Barring failure at the Topsfield Tournament, there was only one more Competition and after that it would be too late.

Perhaps it was ridiculous to try so hard for a first place win. It was only Cheerleading after all-- a Muggle thing and a female sport to boot. But it was _his_ female Muggle-style team, _HIS _girls that were competing. If he let anyone connected to him fail to do their best, it would be he, himself, that would be failing. He would be letting them down, abandoning his responsibilities.

But where was he going to begin? Until very recently, he had never heard of cheerleading and had never seen anything remotely like it. He had learned a lot about the sport in just a few short weeks but he honestly didn't know if he was equal to this task. Not that he had any choice. He still had to do it. He had said he would. Never had he gone back on his word or failed to finish anything he had once started-- no matter what it cost him. Such was Slytherin honor. He would just have to work until he had a solution. It wasn't impossible, but if only he had some help...

He paged through the manuals looking desperately for inspiration. He had to change just about everything, and that meant not only the new chant they had already worked out, but a new dance and a new stunt routine. Who was he kidding? This job he had so casually taken on required him to be a choreographer, conductor, and possibly ring-master as well. And his specialty was Potions...

The gears began to turn in his mind. A potion only consisted of select ingredients artfully combined. Wasn't a cheering routine only _human_ ingredients artfully combined? There was the same sort of precision involved, balance and harmony-- although a different sort of harmony than that which kept a potion from exploding in one's face... The principle was the same but the practice radically different. The problem was that there were so many possibilities! How would two weeks be enough time?

A knock sounded at his door and Snape put the book down in irritation. Who had the temerity to bother him? There were definitely times when he regretted not only being a teacher, but being head of house as well! Too many problems ended up in his lap. If this was something trivial there was going to be a very sorry student cleaning cauldrons with a toothbrush...

"Yes, what is it?" he growled, waving his office door open impatiently with his wand.

"Excuse me, Professor Snape. I didn't mean to disturb you. Perhaps I should come back later." It was Miss Granger.

Severus felt like he had just received an answer to prayer. How providential for her to show up exactly when he needed her! Minutes ago Snape had actually considered sending for her but had decided against it because of how dangerously distracting her presence was. But now that she was here, he would just have to work through the distractions. He could do it. Slytherins could do anything.

Miss Granger was looking at him doubtfully. She seemed very concerned that she had barged in on him at the wrong time. Her face looked a bit flushed from embarrassment, and Severus couldn't help thinking that, all pink and pretty, she looked good enough to eat. _Good enough to eat? Merlin's wisdom teeth! Did I really just think that? I need to clean up my mind... _

This wasn't good. Was he becoming a randy old goat like Flitwick? Good thing Filius didn't know it! Good thing Miss Granger couldn't read minds either. If she could read his she'd be running up to the headmaster, screaming like a banshee, and he didn't want her to do that. He wanted to keep her here. He needed her to help him solve these problems. Besides, having her near him was pleasant, distracting or not. He enjoyed looking at her and he was safely sure she had no idea that he did.

"Actually, now is as good a time as any, Miss Granger. Come in and shut the door. I was going over our routine. We need to make some more changes and I believe your expertise could be helpful."

Miss Granger closed the door and eyed him with reserve. "What sort of changes?"

"We need new stunts and a new dance. The chant can stay since we've already changed that."

The girl was instantly defensive. "But why? It's a good routine! I know we didn't come in first, but that's no reason to throw it all in the rubbish! We just need to polish it up. Why change everything?"

Severus studied her gravely. Miss Granger was the only student he knew that would dare to stand up to him and disagree with him to his face. Cheeky students normally received the most intimidating verbal barrage he was capable of, but he found he couldn't do that to her. He had come to respect her. Hermione Granger wasn't his equal (she was still a student after all) but it wouldn't be long before she would be. He couldn't treat her like one of the other dunderheads. He also respected the hard work she had put in on the present routine. If _his _work was about to be trashed he would have been ready to duel! He owed her more than a simple, "because I said so." She needed to know the truth.

"We need a completely new routine because the Muggle judges believe that ours is stolen. They think we stole it from one of them."

Hermione gaped. "Stolen! You've got to be kidding!"

Snape narrowed his eyes grimly. "I never kid, Miss Granger. You should know that by now! The fact is, the Muggles believe we are cheating, and they firmly refuse to change that belief when I tell them we are not. I don't know about you, but I REFUSE to allow our school to be thought of in such a way! In the interest of diplomatic harmony... and of honor... I told them we would make some changes. If you wish to make yourself useful, you will help me."

She found a chair and sat down slowly, her expression righteously hard. "Oh, How awful! No wonder those judges always looked so nasty! What _COWS!" _

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Well they are." She paused in rueful thought. "And it's not like this doesn't happen all the time, because it does. Most routines have elements in common. There are only just so many variations possible, and when a team comes up with something really, really good, everyone else wants to try it. If they don't, they won't score as many points. But there always seems to be _somebody_ at Competition that starts bellyaching that another teams' routine looks too much like theirs. Coaches and parents shout at each other. They make nasty comments in the loo. I even heard one team criticized because their girls were too cute! They were accused of being under the age limit."

"Incredible. And here I thought this was a positive_, Cheerful _sport."

Hermione grimaced. "It really is ridiculous." She shook her head. "They're probably giving us such an extra hard time because we're new."

He looked at her sharply. "Why should that make a difference?"

"New teams have to prove themselves. No one hands out gold medals or first place tropheys to a team they aren't used to seeing on top. I'm actually surprised they gave us second place."

"It should have been first!" he growled darkly, "Your routine was excellent and the team performed it superbly."

Miss Granger suddenly awarded him with a radiant smile, like a desert flower blooming under after a swift, nourishing rain. _Sweet Merlin, what a lovely sight! And all he had done was to say something nice... _Snape never gave out compliments. He had always felt it would encourage laxity or foolishness. But perhaps a few small ones judiciously bestowed might actually prove beneficial. He enjoyed the sight of that smile. It did wonders for his gloomy office decor.

"It is unfortunate," he continued, "that those in power here are acting like cats." _Definitely cats, not cows. And such a pity. The bovine are so much easier to manipulate._

"Perhaps what they need is a cold water spell," Miss Granger remarked maliciously.

"I know of one actually."

"Do you?" She appeared very interested.

"I'd teach it to you, but it isn't the sort of knowledge serious teachers bestow. Besides, using it on Muggles is unfortunately forbidden. We would end up disqualified."

"Darn."

"Contemplating it, however, can be almost as gratifying. It takes less effort, and in the case of copious amounts of water, there is less mess. And you can do it over and over."

Miss Granger looked up at him and gave him a smirk.

Working with the know-it-all Gryffindor was more than unusually pleasant. Her quick mind and cooperative nature made her just what the doctor ordered. He also didn't have the problem he normally encountered while working with people. She didn't seem to mind his personality. Most people found his acerbic manner either intimidating or infuriating, and his harsh appearance only intensified that situation.

But Hermione was neither angered or intimidated. She seemed to understand that his prickly demeanor and dry, sardonic wit were nothing personal against _her _and were simply the way he was. Snape found this oddly refreshing. Before this, only Flitwick had shown so much ease in his presence, and Miss Granger had the advantage over him in being far more pleasing to the eye-- especially when she smiled.

Severus found that he liked to see her smile. It made him feel good. Few people smiled either around him or at him, and he had been so accustomed to this that he took it as natural. Miss Granger's boundless, fearless enthusiasm near him was a new condition and he found he enjoyed it. The fact that she was an attractive female near his intellectual level didn't hurt either.

Curiously, Snape found himself making the effort to curb some of his harshness around her, to appear less negative and forbidding. In turn, of course, the girl became even more relaxed and smiled more often which caused him to relax more as well. Severus had a sense that he was acting out of character, but didn't stop it. Since it was temporary, and therefore harmless, he saw no reason not to indulge himself. Occasions like this didn't happen every day and Slytherins made use of every opportunity.

Miss Granger had a lot of ideas and to help her illustrate them, he had her change into her cheerleading uniform. Having her wear the uniform made sense of course. It wasn't _just _so he could look at her legs-- though he did look at them. _And why not?_ She had long, shapely legs that were a pleasure to look at, and since he wasn't going to _do _anything but look, it was totally safe. Besides, Gryffindors were so innocent. With his subtlety and discretion she wouldn't even know he was looking...

He did have an occasional randy thought-- especially when some of the dance moves made her pose those luscious legs in what seemed like provocative positions. But they were only thoughts after all. He wasn't going to _act _on them! There was no harm really. His Slytherin control was impeccable.

"What about this sequence, Professor?"

Miss Granger executed a sinuous combination of moves that included pelvic thrusts, lascivious sashays, and a few high kicks worthy of a chorus line. Delicious._ She could probably break a man with those legs. But what a way to go... _

"Add a couple more steps, a turn, and a twist."

"Like this?"

_Oh absolutely._

"Hmm... That set does have possibilities, Miss Granger."

_Lots of them. Go on, please. _

"How about I do a few moves down on the mat?"

He watched her do some rolling, flipping, squirming actions on the floor that made his pulse race.

_What an incredible sport this is! All we have to do is get our audience hot, bothered, and frothing at the mouth and the victory is ours!_

_Except that most of the judges are female... Bloody Blazes! Why can't life be more fair? _

"Put it all together and let's see it again."

_Sweet Merlin, this is the life!_

Soon (all too soon as far as Snape was concerned) they had worked out enough ideas in theory to be ready to combine them into a routine. It was then time to switch on the computer. The first thing they needed to do was to compare it to the original routine.

"Where did you get the footage of our team, professor?" asked a puzzled Hermione. "The videos aren't due to be delivered for at least two weeks."

She bent her healthy, pretty face close to his to better view the computer screen and Severus felt her proximity acutely. She was near enough to touch, near enough to kiss. Near enough to do much more than kiss... Images of what he would like to do jumped joyfully into his mind and he practically had to freeze himself to keep from possibly acting on them. It was a very dangerous moment.

_Merlin's jockstrap, but that was close! I need to watch out! _Those thoughts he had been allowing himself to indulge in really hadn't been wise at all. They had been stupid! There was a REASON why he had been careful around students for so many years-- self preservation! He had to regain that iron control, but he suddenly found that wasn't going to be easy.

He could sense her body heat. He could even smell her aroma. He could imagine her soft, warm skin radiating all that heat underneath her uniform and how pleasant it would be to bury his face in it, to touch, to kiss, to explore... _She's a student! If Albus knew what I was thinking he'd fire me on the spot! _Thankfully, Albus didn't know.. And Legilimens or not, he wasn't going to find out because Snape was going to get control of himself. He suddenly remembered that cold water spell and concentrated on imagining gallons of ice water plunging down upon him. It worked.

Keeping his mind carefully clean and chaste, he worked at recalling what it was she had just said. The last thing he wanted to do was to let on she had distracted him. Or look stupid. _Cold water. ICE cold water. Man, how I really hate cold water... _Oh, yes, she had said something about videos. Videos?

"What videos, Miss Granger?"

"The ones for sale yesterday," she answered seriously, completely unaware of her teacher's narrowly missed meltdown. _Good._ " The ones I ordered for everyone at the Tournament. They couldn't have been delivered yet."

Severus felt a ludicrous stab of relief, and he almost laughed. _So that's what those cameras were for! _And he had been worried his face would appear on British television! It was only some enterprising Muggle selling souvenirs. But why had Miss Granger bought them? Surely she had to know they were useless for wizards. Snape's own ignorance and stupidity felt far less embarrassing in the face of this evidence of hers. Humbling her was going to be pleasant, especially since she was driving him crazy.

"You do realize, of course, that no one here will have the slightest idea what to do with those videos. Though I suppose they would make interesting wall ornaments-- for those who like such things."

Miss Granger wasn't taken down at all. "They could always invest in learning Muggle technology. It would be good for them."

"Pigs will fly first," he said dryly.

"Around here they often do."

Snape suppressed a smile. Amazing how _not _humbling the girl seemed enjoyable too.

"Where _did _you get the footage from, sir?" she persisted.

"These images came from my memory, Miss Granger, which by the way I would trust far more than some Muggle camera. I put the memory into a Pensieve and then entered the Pensieve with a magical camera... a _digital _magical camera. All I had to do then was plug the camera's memory chip into your computer." He felt very smug.

"Wow!" Hermione exclaimed. "You brought a camera into a Pensieve? I didn't know you could do that!"

Seeing Miss Granger impressed was gratifying. "Obviously," he replied loftily. "And what a pleasant surprise it must be for you to realize there is something you do not yet know."

Hermione looked up at him, brown eyes twinkling into his. She seemed to know instinctively that he hadn't really meant that to be cruel. "It is a pleasant surprise, sir. Since I know you so disapprove of know-it-alls."

"Indeed." It was hard to keep from smiling back.


	15. The Power of Positive Magic

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 14: **_**The Power of Positive Magic **_

"We have to change something _again? _That's not fair!"

"Few things in life are fair, Miss Ramsbottom, not the least being students who complain."

"But we only have two weeks!"

"We only had _ONE _week last time, Miss Patil, and you all mastered the new chant beautifully. I expect no less with these changes."

"I don't understand! If we did the other one right, why do we have to change it?"

"To make you _better, _Miss Sweet. To make you _win. _We did agree together that the purpose of every competitive endeavor was to WIN, did we not? I intend to see that you do."

Snape looked around at the worried faces of the Hogwarts Cheerleading Team. He did note that they were _worried _faces, not angry, sullen, rebellious faces. His team had come a long way in just a short while. Even their complaints sounded more respectful and less belligerant. Severus felt almost fatherly towards them for a moment. They reminded him of first year Slytherins.

"You _can_ handle this! If I didn't think you could do it I wouldn't even bother, but I _know_ you can, so there's no use bellyaching! Actually, I don't think there's much you _couldn't_ do if you tried."

He had added that last sentence sort of on impulse. Normally he just gave orders and forced people to obey him. Offering encouragement was out of character for him and he despised teachers who acted touchy-feely and sympathetic. Fear and respect were far better motivators as far as he was concerned. Besides, the only instructor for whom the kindly approach succeeded was Albus Dumbledore.

Yet he knew what it was like to feel intimidated, to be forgotten on the lowest rung of the absolute lowest ladder-- and despised as well. It was the way he had felt as a first year Slytherin, and he saw it in the eyes of many new students in his house. It was seeing this same look, pregnant with vulnerability, on the faces of the team that had led him to extend them a small compliment. Slytherins often needed the early reinforcement of pride to give them the discipline of success.

But it was amazing the reaction that stiff little compliment produced in his team. Doleful faces looked less worried. Heads raised a little. Snape suddenly remembered how Miss Granger had bloomed under a careless compliment he had made the other night, and how much easier (and pleasanter) it was to work with her when he strove to be less intimidating. Perhaps he needed to try a more positive approach with these girls too. Perhaps he should give them some encouragement. It wasn't something he was used to doing, but he wanted them to win, after all. And what ever he needed to do, he would.

"You are an excellent team," he said strongly. "Talented, capable, and disciplined. You have never failed to live up to any of my expectations, nor have you been unable to master anything I have asked you to do. I have no doubt _whatsoever_ that you will conquer these changes in the time provided, and do it admirably." The team was staring at him transfixed. Defeat was melting off them before his very eyes. It was like watching blood flowing back into a pinched limb, returning its warmth and color. But they also looked a little mystified. A Snape that gave compliments might be a hallucination...

"Of course," he added grimly, lest he had gone too far, "I know for certain that you will do all this because I am going to _make sure _that you do." The girls glanced around at each other sheepishly, but he noticed they still kept their brighter spirits. "You WILL be winners! All of you. You are winners already, but haven't achieved your goal yet. This improved routine will help you to achieve it."

Some of them looked at Miss Granger, who had been oddly silent durring the previous exchange, but Hermione only shrugged and smiled. "We're just doing what every other team does. They all change things between Tournaments. If they can do it, so can we."

"Yes, absolutely!" Snape affirmed. "And what Muggles can do, we can do better. We CAN, and there will be no more protests or complaints." He paused. "I have _delightful _detentions planned for those who do."

Many of them actually smiled or giggled and it was in this changed atmosphere that he began to proceed. He placed the lap top on the desk and switched it on. Cheerleaders reacted with wonder and awe.

"Cool!"

"What kind of magic is that?"

"It's not magic," Carry Creevey informed them. "It's a computer! Something Muggle. Hey Professor, how come you can use a computer?"

"If a Muggle can do it, so can I. It is not difficult, really."

"But it isn't... _magic." _Miss Podmore sounded scandalized. "Wizards don't use Muggle things."

"They do if they're useful. Only a fool turns his back on knowledge, or any other tool that will help him." He adressed his students as the program was loading. "Never be quick to underestimate Muggles. What they lack in magic they make up for in technology. Some Muggles actually have dark weapons that can destroy whole cities. Even wizards can't do that."

He clicked on the mouse to run the program. An artistic animated tableau appeared on the screen showing smiling cartoon cheerleaders executing a routine.

"Now observe," he said. "This is our present routine." He let the program run for the two and half minutes their routine required. The girls watched in rapt amazement. The tiny cartoon cheerleaders even resembled them.

"Hey, that one looks like me!" squeeled Erica Brocklehurst.

"And there's the Patils, and Jerry and Cindy!"

"Oh, professor, How did you do that?"

"There was a _sim_ function in one of the routine-building programs. I felt using it would help you internalize your observations." _Besides, it was actually fun. _"You will all each see exactly what you are supposed to do. Now watch the new routine." Everyone stared while the program played. No one made a sound until it was over.

"As you have seen," he said afterwards. "There aren't _that _many differences in the new dance. I'm sure you will pick it up swiftly. But notice those few differences. There is more cohesion. The flow is more pleasing. When I add the music, you will see what I mean."

"You've changed the music too?" Miss Granger was surprised. _Oh yes. He had forgotten to tell her. _

"Changing the music was essential. The old arrangement was dominated by only two songs. It needed variety. I have a new arrangement stored here too. I think you will find it appropriate."

"You can't have music stored in a _computer!_" blurted Fiona Larrivee. "Don't Muggles use something called records? They're these big, black, plates that have to be spun on a turn-table thingy and be scratched with a needle. Professor Oglevie showed us in Muggle Studies class!"

"Oh honestly!" huffed Jackie Ross. "Show some respect! If Professor Snape says there's music in there, then there is!"

"Yeah," echoed another Slytherin. "Oglevie's an old fraud. Everyone who's done some REAL study knows that Muggle music comes on little boxes with spools of tape in them. My father has one as a conversation piece. Rather quaint, actually. There must be one inside that computer."

"You're both wrong," said Pamela Crowell, stiff with Ravenclaw pride. "Haven't you ever noticed what Hermione uses to play our music? It's a small, shiny disk called a CD. She plays it in a _Boom Box. _You should know that!"

Girls were glaring at each other. The Slytherins were starting to band together, and the other houses grouping as well. Wands would be coming out soon. _This is defintely the down side of a more relaxed atmosphere! _

"Simmer DOWN," he growled. "Behave yourselves! Remember there is no _I_ in TEAM! Now listen to the music." He allowed a dramatic little pause before clicking on the program, his fingers making a tiny flourish before pushing the button.

The program loaded and the picture flashed on. Snape hit the play button and then waited to see the girls' reaction, his vanity pushing itself forward to preen for a stroke. And why not? He was proud of his work and had labored hard on this presentation. He even looked fondly at the computer. These Muggle data machines weren't all that hard to use after all! And it had been quite fun, actually. It was amazing what a wizard could do when he had to. Perhaps he'd buy one for himself after this. Perhaps he could get one for Albus Dumbledore too.. Maybe it would keep the old man busy and out of his hair for a while...

Wide-eyed girls watched as the screen showed the program, and the tableau reappeared with the cartoon cheerleaders in pyramid formation, Miss Laravee flanked by the Patils like two dusky bookends. Music began to play, and the three flyers began to rise magestically to the inspired strains of:

_"I believe I can fly!_

_I believe I can touch the sky..."_

The flyers stood ramrod straight, their heads tilted up proudly as each girl gazed in happy, starry-eyed contemplation of heaven. Then they faced directly forward, each raising one knee to execute a "liberty" before extending legs behind them in arabesques.

_"I think about it every night and day."_

The arabesques became scorpions.

_"Spread my wings and fly away._

_I believe, I believe I can fly..."_

Staccato bursts of concussion followed-- sound effects that quickened the pace and led to the familiar dance-type tempo. The cartoon girls jumped down from the pyramid to rush into gymnastics while little exerpts from popular songs threaded through the pounding beat.

_"Ho, ho, ho! It's magic!_

_You kno-o-ow_

_Never believe it's not so!_

Cheerleaders tumbled across the mat. Their paths making a star shaped pattern.

_"Do you believe in magic?"_

A figure that looked incredibly like Miss Granger flip-flopped right up the center, beaming as it executed a beautiful lay-out tuck. (Snape had taken pains to get those features just right...)

_"You can do magic!_

_You can do anything that you desire._

_Magic..."_

All the little figures lined up for another pyramid.

_"Flying away on a wing and a prayer..._

_Who could it be?_

_Believe it or not it's just--_

A deep voice boomed:

**"HOGWARTS FLYERS!" **

The little figures in the pyramid, one happy girl in the middle holding a foot of each flanking flyer, all squeeked out:

"Let's go Hogwarts! Bring it on! Bring it **HOME!**"

Snape suppressed a smile while his girls watched the sim rendition of their chant. The little voices coming from the lap-top sounded like a muffled version of the real thing. It had taken hours to get them to sound like that, just as it had taken a whole hour to get Tonks and Lupin on the sidelines to appear true to life as well. He wondered if any of the girls noticed them, and too bad (Tonks' hair was even an electric pink...)

Thinking of all the time he had spent, he supposed it was over-kill. But if you're really going to do something, you might as well do it right as opposed to just doing it! He _had _to make that program perfect-- even if he had to beg a time-tuner off Albus to get time enough to finish it... or get some sleep. And looking at the faces of the girls-- at the jaws dragging on the floor-- he felt satisfied. If a fly were to come buzzing into the room at that moment, It wouldn't know which gaping mouth to land in first.

The routine finally ended with the new dance portion which proceeded to a medly of "magic" songs intricately combined, with their tempos sometimes sped up-- The Lovin Spoonful's "Do You Believe" and ELO's "Strange Magic" predominating. The climax of their last pyramid ended with an echo of:

_"I believe I can Fly!"_

Girls gaped in absolute astonishment.

"How did you do that?" asked an astonished Parvati. "How did you put all those songs together?"

"Music is simply data. Once in a computer, it can be manipulated like any other form of data. Mixing music is no more complicated than mixing a potion, and far less dangerous It can't explode all over my dungeon-- unlike some of the potions YOU have brewed, Miss Patil..."

"But where did you get all those songs _from?" _asked Padma. "Were they inside the computer already?" She peered at the device doubtfully. "Some of those songs are really OLD."

_What are you talking about, old! Those are Classic Hits, child! Sweet Merlin, I'm showing my age... _Severus sighed. "Muggles call it the Internet. You can find just about anything-- and I mean ANYTHINGthere-- including music."

Miss Granger suddenly errupted. "But you _can't _have gone on the_ internet,_ professor! The wireless feature on that computer doesn't work here! All the magical fields make it go haywire. The only way would be through an outside phone line--"

"And that's exactly what I used, Miss Granger."

He could feel her gaping at him and he found it extremely amusing. Reducing the know-it-all to a speachless sputter was entertainment indeed. And she was incredibly fetching in such a state too. He hoped it would last.

"But you couldn't... There isn't... Hogwarts and Hogsmead are one of the only completely magical places in Britain! They're segregated, totally cut off. There isn't any phone service here. Where would you possibly find a phone line?"

"In the headmaster's office, of course. He's had an emergency line there for years. How else would he be able to contact the families of Muggleborn students when many of them absolutely refuse to use owls? And how else was he able to keep up such a high level of communication durring the worst of the war? Our enemy never noticed anything non-magical, and in that lay the genius. It was one of the ways that led to our victory."

Hermione just stared at him complete flabergasted. "He had one there all the time? I never had any idea!"

Snape gave her a sidelong glance as he clicked back into the program. "Ah well, Miss Granger," he purred. "Something else you didn't know. This seems to be your lucky day."

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione watched Professor Snape with shining eyes. She couldn't help marveling at all these new changes in him. It was as though he was becoming a different person, although she knew that wasn't really so. The professor was simply showing a side of himself people usually didn't see. It was a nicer side, a more human side, a side she had always known was really there. She wanted to blink or shake herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming. But she didn't want to find out she was dreaming. She liked this Snape better.

It was truly encouraging. Over the past few weeks, as the team had improved, they had grown much more comfortable with him. They worked with him more easily, looked at him more positively, and as they did this, he had somehow grown more comfortable with them. There was no change in the balance of power. Proud, stiff and stern, he was still in control, but he was also far more approachable. His manner had become a bit more positive, and the biting sarcasm he still used on them had gradually become less harsh. It no longer hurt and it could even actually be funny.

The professor's subtle humor usually went beyond most of the team. Sometimes the quips he made were obvious, but often it was only Hermione that smiled-- and not necessarily at what he _said_, but the _way _he said it. Snape often caught her eye, raised an eyebrow, or twitched a corner of his mouth at her-- as if he _knew _she understand him and he wanted her to. He appeared to appreciate the fact that she would catch his meaning, and every time that happened it made her feel warm. She began to really enjoy all the moments she spent with him, even if they were spent in the midst of the team.

In the midst of the team, she could also observe him better, watch the nuances of expression that played oh so subtly across his face. The professor was an incredibly guarded person, but when he did relax enough to interract with people, the result was facinating. And he was a very _physical_ person as well... Snape carried himself with dignity. No one but him ever seemed to be able master the art of those trademark billowing robes, but who ever knew he could be so graceful?

"You! Miss Patil, Miss Crowell, and Miss Ramsbottom. You stand here and do _this... _And over here, Miss Larravee, Miss Brockelhurst, and Miss Sweet, you will bend _this _way... No, Miss Podmore, from the waist, not the shoulders. _This _way..."

The sight of fearsome Severus Snape conducting the girls' dance routine by use of _pantomine _should have been ludicrous, but it wasn't. It was actually rather beautiful in a strange sort of way. The professor himself couldn't be said to be beautiful, not with his harshly chisled features and his habitual black garb, but the way he moved was. Hermione couldn't help a smile at the incongruity of it, ar the careful grace in each of his actions, the economy of motion in every sweep of arm or turn of wrist. Even the move of his hands was expressive. And he had long graceful fingers...

Hermione knew she shouldn't be thinking of his fingers. _It was naughty! _As it was, she had been having some disturbing thoughts about him recently, and she shouldn't allow herself to do so. She was a good student. Good students didn't do such things. If the professor knew the sorts of thoughts that occasionally popped into her head, he would be shocked and ashamed of her. Or perhaps he would be dissapointed at her silliness. Hermione would lose his respect.

It didn't matter that she _knew _he occasionally looked at her—especially when she was wearing her cheerleading uniform. The uniform was skimpy by wizard standards, so the poor man was provoked. And he _was _a man. If he didn't at least notice a girl in a skimpy uniform, there might be something wrong with him! The fact that she had actually _encouraged _him to notice her was her own problem.

She hadn't meant to do that. The previous evening when she and the professor had been working out the new dance and stunt routines she had had truly innocent intentions. She had put on her uniform without any thought to how she appeared to her teacher. But once into the business of dancing, Hermione had realized he was looking at her, and that her clothing probably seemed scandalous to him. She realized that she was giving him a "private show" and that he was secretly enjoying it.

Bizarrely, instead of embarrassing her, it had actually stimulated her... She had liked the sensation of being looked at. Hermione considered herself rational and mature, but she was still young enough to want to turn heads, and she had not had much of that experience. It was fun to know that her body was being observed and appreciated. It even felt powerful. Hermione found herself trying out some of the more sensual dance moves, all the time perfectly aware of the effect they were having on her audience.

That had probably been disgraceful behavior, but Hermione reasoned she hadn't truly done anything wrong. She hadn't actually teased him. She hadn't disrobed, sat on his lap, or conjured up a pole. All the moves she had used had been perfectly appropriate for cheerleading. Of course _some _of them ( particularly those performed on the floor) were a little provocative, but it wasn't her fault that those types of moves were common to the sport! The fact that she felt flattered to actually have the power to tease a "man of the world" like Professor Snape (if she wanted to) was beside the point.

And Snape had been a perfect gentleman. Hermione knew he had been watching her as a man, and not as a teacher, but he made no obvious outward sign of it. Beyond the intensity of his gaze, he betrayed nothing of it in his facial expression, and made no verbal comment that could in any way seem innapropriate. This restraint made Hermione feel incredibly safe. _So what if he looked? _He would never harm or shame her. Even when she had stepped in close him to see the computer screen, Snape had simply become a little more stiff and proper. He hadn't touched her, though he could have.

She wondered what it would have been like if he had touched her (or if she had managed to fall into his lap again,) but then mentally slapped herself. _She shouldn't think such things! _Professor Snape was behaving much better than she was. He was being so helpful. Why, look at him move directing their dance! He wasn't looking at any of the girls in an unseemly way. And he was such a good sport! _And he'd probably be dynamite on a dance floor... I wonder if he knows disco... or the Tango... or, oh dear. I mustn't think this way... _

"Step up the pace, Miss Granger. I don't believe you're paying attention. Is something distracting you?"

_Yes. You are. _

"No sir."

He twitched a corner of his mouth at her, and Hermione could swear his black eyes twinkled at her for a second. Had to be her imagination.

"Good."


	16. A Sobering Realization

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 16: **_**A Sobering Realization **_

As the Flyers met in the practice room the morning of the Topsfield Tournament, faces were confident. They all expected to do well. They all knew they deserved to. Every team member had given their all, working nearly every day to master their new routine, and they all felt they had done so. Hermione felt they had done so too. And best of all, Professor Snape seemed to feel so as well.

If Hermione had been amazed at the professor before, she was beyond amazement now. She was heartened and even delighted. The new Professor Snape that directed their practice sessions bore little resemblance to the Snape that had first become their Advisor, or even the Snape that still presided over Potions (though even he seemed to have changed too.) Gone was the atmosphere of intimidation and enmity. Gone were the sulfurous glares, cruel, acid criticism, and purposeful, malicious bullying.

Snape was still Snape. He still communicated in sarcasm so eloquent it could be classed as an art form, but it no longer seemed intended to actually hurt anyone-- at least not seriously. He continued to maintain high standards and had no patience for fools. He was still an island in the stream, distant and aloof, a man who didn't-- and probably never would-- mix well with people. But now much of the hatred and bitterness that had once characterized him seemed to be gone. Or perhaps it was only hidden... Whatever the case, no one was complaining. Working with Snape was now no longer hell.

The Snape that conducted their practices acted proud of them. He didn't just tell them when they failed, but he also told them in bracing terms when they succeeded-- and he did this with all the girls, from all the houses. The whole team had become much more than honorary Slytherins. They were _his _and they all knew it, and bizarrely, instead if that being a cause for dismay, they all liked it. With Snape on their side, how could they go wrong? They all worked very, very hard for him.

The side benefit to Hermione had been tremendous. If anyone still had any ill feelings from the days when they had hated Snape and resented Hermione, that was all forgotten now. She was again the beloved team captain. No longer did she have to run interference between a harsh, demanding Advisor and fifteen angry cheerleaders. She was free to be just another teammate-- albeit one who was much more knowledgeable and who had the Advisor's ear. Hermione was delighted with this turn of events.

The Professor stepped into the room and all within brightened when once they would have shuddered. Team members regarded him with identity and respect. Had they been soldiers, they would have saluted. This was another day of battle-- a battle they were determined to win. Their leader had told them they _could_, and they were all prepared to believe him. Somehow, Snape had become a general that troops would follow unquestionably. Hermione felt proud, not only of her team, but of him as well.

Snape looked at Hermione first. "Has the team finished stretching?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. There is time before we leave to practice once or twice. Everyone on to the mat!"

Jackets and sports bags flew to the side and all sixteen cheerleaders jumped into formation. Music sounded magically all around them (Hermione had _no _idea how he did that since their music disc was in her bag...) and they all went through their routine. Snape kept up a running commentary.

"Straighten your arms, Miss Ramsbottom. You're getting lax."

"_Smile, _Miss Patil... both of you. I want to see perky!"

"Tighten up there, Miss Brockelhurst. Remember to face forward."

"Watch it, Miss Granger! You almost landed out of bounds!"

"Oh, and look," the professor smirked as Lupin and Tonks came in to watch (Tonks' hair was electric blue today.) "You now have an audience. Go through it one more time so that your fans can practice as well."

Lupin and Tonks took part with enthusiasm. The Defense teacher had a soft voice and his manner was so gentle it was hard to remember that he was a werewolf, but Tonks was shrill. She bellowed out her responses while jumping up and down, blue hair bouncing and fists waving. The team grinned at her.

"That was good. _Very good!_" commended Snape. "Perform like that in Topsfield today and we will take this Tournament. Now out to the bus. Follow our driver."

While everyone scrambled to leave, Hermione approached the professor. "Excuse me, sir," she said.

At one time Snape would have glowered at her, but after the familiarity of working together and the transformation he appeared to be undergoing, he seemed stiffly welcoming. He almost smiled.

"I was wondering if you needed more ear protectors. Mum sent me a whole boxful just in case."

For a minute Snape did smile, a rather sideways smile. "Thank you. I will perhaps take a couple. Give the rest to our friends in the stands. Much as I'd love to see our dear Defense master suffer, werewolves do have sensitive hearing. If he goes temporarily deaf, _my_ workload will increase..." He paused.

"Tell me, Miss Granger. Is there a logical reason WHY with all the excellent classical music available, cheerleaders have to perform to _Hip Hop?" _He made the word sound like an obscenity.

"Well..." she said with diplomatic delicacy, "It's not exactly _easy _to dance to classical. The style is much too sedate. I mean, can you imagine us doing our routine to _Brahms Lullaby?"_

He rolled his eyes. "No, but there _are_ classical pieces with fire to them. Consider the _Saber Dance, _or _The Flight of the Bumblebee." _

"Well, perhaps..."

"And why does it have to be so BLAZINGLY loud?"

Hermione laughed. "That's just the way Muggle Competitions are. People like to get into it. They like to get revved up, and the louder the music, the more excited the crowds are. If you think Cheerleading is loud, Professor, Robotics is even worse! My brother does Robotics, and it's an experience I can tell you! The fans are even more colorful, and their Competition music is Heavy Metal."

"_Robotics?" _The Professor looked completely mystified.

"Remote control machines. Muggle teams build them and make them fight each other."

He shook his head in amazement. "Now that I'd love to see!"

"Would you? Maybe you could come with us to one of my brother's Tournaments. There's one in London..."

Snape's face suddenly went strangely rigid, and Hermione realized she had made a trespass, a fatal _faux pas. _She backpedaled swiftly. "Oh... well... um...later. After I graduate, of course!"

She was making it worse. _Oh dear, what have I done? He'll think I'm taking liberties! Sucking up! _She didn't need a mirror to tell she had gone beet red. She could feel it.

Her professor was staring at her as if shocked, black eyes like obsidian targets. He appeared to be trying to compose himself. An eyebrow went up. "Indeed... ah, yes... thank you," he said stiffly. His culture voice seemed slightly strained. Hermione fled to join the team.

_Oh, my gosh! _What had ever possessed her? How could she have asked him to a family event? _She might as well have invited him for dinner too! _Hermione's face burned harder with shame. But she couldn't help the sudden picture that popped into her head-- the professor sitting at the Granger table, exchanging dry humor with her father, talking shop with her brother, rolling his eyes at her twittering sisters, and complimenting her mother on the food. Her family would like him. She wondered what Snape would think of the crowds of geeks and techies at a Robotics Meet and the gladiator-like atmosphere of the mechanical duel. Providing he had earplugs, Hermione was sure he would love it...

She considered his expression as she got on the bus. He hadn't seemed offended, only stunned. And now that she thought of it, he _had _sort of said yes... But was it a "yes" yes, or just an "I don't know what else to say" yes? Of course it had to be that! Snape wouldn't fraternize with students. _But after I graduate, I won't BE a student... _But how ridiculous! After she was graduated, he wouldn't even remember today's conversation! That was how it should be, but she couldn't help but wonder. It was a tribute to how much Snape seemed to have changed, that Hermione could wonder like this at all.

As the bus pulled out of the Hogwarts grounds, she leaned her head against the window and pondered. The changes in Snape seemed to have come about gradually. She had only begun to notice them when they were working together to improve the routine. Professor Snape had always appeared to dislike her, but now that didn't seem to be the case at all. He even joked with her sometimes, and she could tell he was pleased when she recognized his subtle humor.

Hermione had a feeling that few others appreciated Professor Snape's idea of humor. How lonely he must be! How lonely, and yet how stubbornly aloof-- a man who couldn't, or wouldn't, change for others enough to be liked. A man who had to be himself, and who put up prickly walls to insulate that self from the hurt his own isolation caused him. Hermione knew a little of what that was like.

Never had Hermione fit in with her classmates. She didn't like most of the things the other girls liked, and the things _she _liked-- philosophy, science, current events, and history-- always turned them off. With boys it had been a little different... until she had grown older. Then most of them stopped seeing her as a person and only regarded her as a female-- a female who wasn't particularly pretty and who didn't act like other females... a female who was also smarter and more knowledgeable than they were.

As a child, Hermione hadn't been interested in sports. Her sisters had been typical Cheerleaders-- avid for the glamor, popularity, and competitive camaraderie, while she had only wanted to read books. Concerned for their reclusive third daughter, her parents had pushed her into activity and Hermione had been enrolled in a sporting club to start gymnastics. Oddly enough, she had really liked it.

There was joy in mastering her body, feeling the precise strength it took to throw a string of handsprings or land a beautiful, well executed pike. As a junior cheerleader, she had even had a chance to be a flyer, and the exhilaration of being up in the air supported by others, knowing that it was her own expert balance as well as they keeping her up there, was heady stuff indeed. How odd that broom flying had proved later to be so difficult, but obviously some things just didn't translate. Hermione was Muggleborn. She couldn't feel comfortable trusting an inanimate piece of wood. She trusted herself, and to a lesser extent, her friends, and that was the second blessing Cheerleading had taught her...

Hermione suspected she had the inborn nature of a loner. She had always preferred solitude and books to people and crowds, and if left to herself, would probably never have done more than hide behind those books. Cheerleading had forced her out of her shell. It had brought her into close contact with other people, who she had to trust and who had to trust her. In such a situation, it was impossible to hide within. Learning to cooperate had been inevitable, and as a result she had gained confidence, even leadership, from these experiences. Now it appeared something similar had happened to Snape.

Advising a Cheerleading team seemed to have profoundly affected him. In the beginning, like her, he hadn't wanted to be involved. _Worse than her, he had hated it! _The poor professor had been outraged by what must have seemed scandalous and incredibly alien, as well as by his forced participation in it. Because he HAD to have been forced! Hermione couldn't help but see that Dumbledore must have given him an "offer he couldn't refuse," or perhaps it was even a punishment...

She couldn't help a secret little chuckle at the idea of Professor Snape, the teacher most eager to hand out punishments, taking one himself-- and one that involved Muggles, bouncy, perky girls, and _cheerfulness! _But somehow, instead of humbling the proud man-- teaching him a lesson-- he had risen to it as a challenge.Snape hadn't served a sentence. He had used it as a vehicle for self actualization! _That which does not kill me makes me stronger. _Again, he had turned defeat into victory.

That victory was more than just presiding over a winning team. Cheerleading had worked some sort of magic on him to bring out dormant positive qualities that had obviously always been there. Snape seemed less aloof, less sour, and less snide. He didn't seem to hate his students anymore (though no one could accuse him of actually liking them...) Hermione even noticed that his interaction with fellow faculty had improved. On rare occasions, he even deigned to speak to Lupin!

The atmosphere on the bus was the best it had ever been. Snape seemed to want them to be in good spirits. He didn't glare or glower at them-- even when the Patil sisters started a chorus of "One Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall" and Tonks seemed to think it was the funniest thing she had ever heard. She kept trying to sing it as "One Hundred Bottles of Butterbeer" but the syllables didn't really sound right. Snape just gave her a wry smirk and shook his head. Lupin, from behind the wheel, suddenly changed the song. They were all immediately transfixed, and gleefully sang with gusto:

**One Hundred Potion bottles on the wall.**

**One Hundred Potion bottles!**

**If one of those bottles should happen to fall,**

And here Snape inserted himself smoothly. _He actually sang! _

"Someone will have a detention, that's all!"

The whole bus reeled with shock, and then roared with delight:

**Someone will have a detention, that's all.**

**Someone will have a detention!**

**If one of those bottles should happen to fall,**

**Someone will have a detention-- TILL FALL!**

Girls dissolved into screams of laughter and intimated what they thought that detention might detail:

"Bubbling Bat brains!"

"Pickling eyeball paste!"

"Simmering tubs of Troll toe jam!"

"Hey!" yelled Tonks joyfully. "Great Green Gobs of Greasy, Grimy Gopher Guts!"

Unfortunately at this point, their Advisor seemed to have hit his limit.

"**Alright, alright! Simmer down!" **he growled in mock irritation."You're distracting our driver and we might all _die!_ He can barely see as it is..." Professor Lupin was laughing so hard he was crying. "Wipe your eyes, Lupin before we go off the road! I would prefer not to become a tree ornament."

"OK, Snape, OK," laughed Lupin, toweling his face. "Oh, sweet Merlin, that was funny."

"Little things please little minds." He murmured darkly before turning to the team. "And by the way, if our bottle of _throat healing _potion just happens to fall, and none of you athletes are nimble enough to catch it, you will have no one to blame but yourselves. _And_ you will get a detention."

The professor seemed slightly confused, unsure whether he should be scandalized or flattered by this sudden familiarity. But no one was seriously worried. They all knew he wasn't going to let them compete with sore throats. They did quiet down, however, grinning slyly amongst themselves and giggling. Snape grimaced at Tonks in sardonic distaste, one eye brow lifting in inquiry. "_greasy, grimy gopher guts?" _

"It's a Muggle thing."

"Indeed," they heard him say. "_Barbaric!_"

Hermione was enthralled. Such conversation would have been unthinkable just a few months ago. Professor Snape was turning into a human being. Some of that cheerleading cooperation seemed to have rubbed off on him. Perhaps he had learned a lesson from his "punishment" after all! Hermione couldn't stop looking at him. Joking and even singing! Who could believe it? Except that in her heart Hermione had always known that Snape wasn't evil the way so many others believed. All it had taken was the right combination of positive forces to bring out the best in him. And with time, who knew how else he might develop? Just as long as he didn't loose too much of the snark... She wouldn't want his personality to loose the piquancy that made him so fascinating.

Too bad she would graduate soon and probably never see him again. Too bad they couldn't become friends. _Or more than friends..._ A friend like him would keep her on her toes, keep her brain sharp. She could think of dozens of interesting topics she would love to talk with him about. They could spar and argue for hours at a time! She might get a chance for some deep, philosophical discussions, instead of all so much insipid chit-chat. Too bad he was her teacher. _Oh too, too bad!_

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape was in a positive mood as he ushered his charges into the hosting Muggle school. The girls were happy and perky, just relaxed enough to do their best but not out of control enough to be sloppy. His new program of strategic praise seemed to be working fine. He had a troop of winners on his hands and he couldn't wait to show them off.

Odd how just a few little compliments, just a few words of praise, had worked such wonders. Why hadn't he done this before? _Because he was far too busy making everybody afraid of him, that's why... _Well, there was that. But fear did have its uses. Harshness definitely still had merit. One had to keep strict control in a room full of multiple cauldrons. It was fear that kept so many of those cauldrons from lethally exploding. His students should be thanking him that they still had all their limbs...

Yet he had noticed a difference lately in his classes. He had tried a few carefully dispensed words of praise, and the attentiveness of his students had actually _improved. _The change had surprised him. Instead of dissolving into unruliness, his students appeared to be working harder. Of course he hadn't been lavish. Obviously one could still be harsh and give praise, still impose order _and_ encourage. If one was artful, it might even be possible to instill fear with humor! He _was_ a Slytherin after all.

Drawbacks, however, did exist. He had to put up with Lupin and Tonks. Remus Lupin was still an uncomfortable shadow from his past, and Tonks... well, Tonks was one of the most irritating people Snape had ever met! But they _were _making themselves useful for his team. Tonks had brought more Auror friends with her, and both she and Lupin had promised him more spectators at the event. And Lupin was an excellent driver. But then there was the problem of Miss Granger...

Severus had obviously created too lax an environment. What else would prompt Miss Granger to do something so bizarre as to invite him, a teacher, to a family event? Unless it came from all the mixing that had happened in the Order... Of course she had realized her mistake right away because she had tried to modify it by adding, "after I graduate." But did she realize what she had done?

Did little Miss Granger realize that her teacher was attracted to her..._physically attracted? _Of course not. She was a trusting, innocent Gryffindor. How could she possibly know that her Advisor had to take a potion every night to keep from having erotic dreams of her? _Dreams of her performing her cheering routine deliciously in the buff, or on his lap, or both... _Surely she wasn't trying to tempt him.

The girl obviously had no idea of what she had asked. Bringing him along to a family function as though he was a friend (a gentleman friend) and not a teacher? Why, she might as well ask him to dinner too! Snape suddenly had a desire to actually meet her family, to see the people who made her who she was, to talk with them over food and wine. But she probably hadn't meant any of it (and she _hadn't_ asked him to dinner.) It had to be one of those silly things people say out of politeness. She probably wouldn't even remember it later. _Too bad. How really too bad! _

As Snape led his troops to the battle, he caught sight of one of the odious Muggle judges crossing from the other side of the tarmac and felt a familiar clenching in his stomach. His girls had no idea how lucky they were to only have to _perform_ for these cats and not have to _sit _with them... Miss Granger, seeing where he was looking and possibly noticing his discomfort, flashed him a smile. Suddenly he had an idea. If a bit of encouragement worked with his girls and his classes, why not with the judges too? The were stupid, and the were _women... _He smirked inwardly. _Let's try a little positive magic... _

But an hour later, Snape was sitting in the Judges Box, fists clenched, and teeth grinding. _Sure.. Try a little positive. HAH! _Nothing short of a miracle would thaw those hearts of ice. He had smiled at them. He had attempted conversation. He had even dropped innocuous little compliments to encourage camaraderie, but he might as well have cut his throat. The atmosphere remained persistently poisonous. To his attempted smiles, he had only received shrugs. His conversational forays were met with cold simpers and silence. Those stupid little compliments only encouraged suspicion.

"Are we trying to suck up, Mr. Snape?" he was asked.

"Not on your life!" he had bristled, all his good intentions spontaneously evaporating. "I am merely attempting _diplomacy._ Obviously, I shouldn't have bothered!"

"Did you change the routine this time?"

"Of course. I said that I would, and I always keep my commitments."

"Dear, dear. That sounds so lofty and _honorable_, doesn't it?"

"And here we thought you couldn't care less about this sport!"

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't BE here," he had growled through set teeth. "I can think of countless tortures more preferable to sitting here listening to your insults!"

While feminine laughter twinkled around him, Snape remembered something Oglevie said about the psychology behind a Muggle movie called "Mean Girls." Mean _girls? Merlin's boxers! _No mere girls could hold a candle to these noxious bitches! They'd had decades for their nastiness to ripen since the long ago past when they had once been girls. Talk about spite! And the Muggle Queer was just as bad.

"How did your poor girls take to learning a changed routine-- providing you really did change it?"

"I DID. And they had no trouble. My girls are serious, disciplined athletes. They do whatever I tell them and they do it superbly."

'My, my! You sound suspiciously like a coach! And I thought you said you _weren't _a coach-- just a Faculty Advisor." He looked Snape up and down mockingly. "Funny, you don't _look _like a coach... more like a stuffed shirt actually."

Snape saw red. "Oh really? Well appearances are deceiving, aren't they? After all, YOU don't look like a pompous, insulting, _insufferable_ jackass, but when you opened your mouth you gave it all away!"

The Queerleader was furiously affronted, and the rest of the cats looked ready to spit, but at this point Snape didn't care. _Fine! So much for the positive approach..._ He probably shouldn't have tried at all. Forget attempting to peddle influence. Let his team win on MERIT, not on schmooze! They were certainly good enough after all. Wait till these harpys saw them!

Snape glanced around at the fan sections. This arena was bigger and far more lavishly appointed than the last one. Purple and gold decorations bobbed, fluttered, or waved everywhere, and on the wall a huge painted Jacobean swashbuckler, complete with long hair and feathered hat leered lasciviously down at everyone. The hosting team was the "Cavaliers." Well, that had to explain the purple clad "Captain Hook" mascot dancing stupidly in front of the stands. He rolled his eyes in disgust.

While teams practiced, the usual hordes of scruffily dressed Muggles milled about, lounging in gangs, and looking dangerous. As Snape watched, a youth strode by in a shirt with "Tommy Hilfiger" printed on it. He wondered if that was the lad's name and he was so simple that he needed a reminder, or if it was the name of some street gang. Two other toughs sped by on trainers ingeniously containing hidden wheels. _Now THAT was an idea! What he couldn't do with those... _Imagine how his robes would billow if he could glide along like that!

An odd thought struck him. These youths dressed rough, but Snape suddenly understood that despite their appearance, few were truly dangerous. Most of these lewd looking children-- even the ones bumping and grinding to "Save a horse. Ride a cowboy!" were actually rather innocent. They dressed like whores and hoodlums but hadn't the slightest idea what it was they represented. The irony was sadly funny. Here he was in his stiff, conservative garb passing judgment on a bunch of very silly children. As a death eater Snape had rubbed shoulders with some of the most violent forms of evil and probably knew more about depravity than anyone here. These kids were only acting, playing with darkness. That was probably what infuriated him so much. Playing with fire always got one burnt.

A stunt team in front of him practiced a "liberty" and almost dropped their flyer. Severus winced. The danger here wasn't the boys with the piercings and tattoos, or the half-nude girls wearing skulls and crossbones t-shirts. It was the sport itself. One of these days, someone was going to be seriously hurt at one of these events. Cheerleading, cutsie though it seemed, was potentially lethal.

He noticed the Hogwarts fan section filling up with people. Lupin and Tonks had been as good as their word. Half the Auror department seemed to be sitting there as well as Mudungus Fletcher, some witches and wizards he didn't know, and Minerva McGonagall. _Oh great! What was SHE doing here? _He looked for other members of the faculty, but thankfully saw no other teachers. _That was all he needed... _

"That was a terribly insulting thing you just said, Mr. Snape," sniped a Muggle judge next to him.

"Was it?" he sneered. "I thought I was simply telling the truth."

With McGonagall watching, he had to keep his temper. She was Dumbledore's "eyes and ears." Every move he made would be reported in exacting detail, and if he didn't watch it he'd be up for more disciplinary actions. He might even lose his team! Though for a moment, Snape wished it were _she _sitting in this blazing chair and taking these insults. Of course Minerva would set them down in mere seconds and still not be accused of rude or anti-social behavior._ Oh, it just wasn't fair! _

"You need to watch yourself," the Muggle continued judgmentally. "That sort of behavior is _unsporting." _

"Oh I see," he countered, keeping his face carefully neutral. "You are allowed to insult me, but I'm not allowed to insult you. How righteous of you. How equitable. How very _democratic_."

"How very sarcastic!"

"Thank you! Sarcasm seems to be what I'm best at. And you _did_ insult me first. If you don't wish my sarcasm, please refrain from provoking it!"

He carefully kept his gaze away from the other judges, doing his best to appear serenely unconcerned. He felt a little disgusted-- with himself as well as them. Perhaps letting them provoke him really _was _unsporting. He should be above that sort of pettiness. Well he wasn't going to speak to them from now on unless he had to. Too bad his earplugs, invaluable as they were for blocking the worst of the pounding, crashing music, didn't block out their nasty, insulting voices! He watched his team, the last on the list, take the mat for their practice round. The sight of Miss Granger's pretty face brightened his spirits. His team was going to knock them off their feet! _Now we'll show them! _

The Hogwarts Flyers formed up and the music started. With the opening bars of "I believe I can fly" Snape felt a surge of pride. His girls were the best, and they were doing everything he had told them to. Their form was perfect. They were right on beat. Not one of them missed a step or dropped a cue. He watched flawless tumbling, precises, graceful stunting, stimulating dance, and a rousing chant that could bring down the house. Lupin and his group did their part with thunderous aplomb. There was no way anyone in this whole arena could fail to hear them. Snape smiled to himself, confidently smug. _That aught to impress those miserable SCOLDS! _

But when he looked at the judges they didn't seem impressed at all. Instead they appeared grim, almost angry. They slid resentful eyes toward his grinning, joyful girls and proceeded to mutter amongst themselves. Snape bristled. _What was their problem? _Couldn't they see quality when it stared them in the face? Surely they could tell his team had improved beyond measure-- that they were of champion caliber! And they HAD to acknowledge he had done EXACTLTY what they had wanted by changing that blasted routine!

_They're just being sore losers! Choking on sour grapes! So now all the hissing little tabbies have to eat crow! _Well too bad! It was time for them to suck it up! They could say all the nasty things they wanted, act as bitchy as they pleased, but they had to recognize true merit. If the Flyers performed this well in the final round, these judges couldn't deny them the win they deserved. They would have to give in. Wouldn't they?

The blond judge turned and gave him a hard,withering look and suddenly, in that sickening instant, Snape understood. They _could _deny them... and they would. Judging in cheerleading was largely subjective. It all depended on the feelings and perceptions of the individual judges... and their prejudices. Because of that the Hogwarts team was NEVER going to get a first place win no matter what they did. With sinking heart, he realized that no matter how perfect his team was, no matter how difficult their routine, no matter how many fans they brought with them, they were still never going to get that number one spot-- and it was all because... of him.

The reason the Hogwarts Flyers would never get the recognition they deserved was not because the judges didn't like them, or didn't like their routine. It was because the judges didn't like _him. HE _had ruined his team's chances. He had failed them. The practice rounds ended and Snape stalked out of the building, wondering what the _hell, _if anything, he was going to do.


	17. Nothing Short of a Miracle

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 17: **_**Nothing short of a Miracle **_

Snape felt cold all over and sick to his stomach as he paced back and forth outside the Muggle building. _HE _was the one holding his team back. HE was responsible for their failure!Dumbledore had tried to warn him, but his pride had kept him from listening. Now his snarky sarcasm had alienated the very people he should have been trying to impress. How could he have let this happen? Why hadn't he taken into consideration the value of the judges' regard?

The answer to that was simple, of course. _In the beginning he hadn't cared._ When he had arrived at that first Competition, his attitude toward the whole Cheerleading experience couldn't have been more negative. It hadn't bothered him then that he was antagonizing those silly Muggle judges. He had hated everything about the sport-- the discomfort, the confusion, the migraine building noise, and he had hated the Muggle judges because of it. In fact, Snape had taken perverse pleasure in being as disagreeable to them as he possibly could!

His Quiddich background hadn't helped either. There was no subjective judging in Quiddich. A team either caught the snitch, or it didn't. Quibbling only occurred when players got too rough-- but even that was expected. Quiddich teams were _supposed _to fight each other! They didn't smile or get cozy before games, and they didn't feel the need to be in each other's good graces. Quiddich teams were enemies on the pitch and so were their coaches. Snide, rude behavior was nothing compared to the bellicose taunts and underhanded ploys Professional Quiddich coaches were famous for. _Hell, the Bulgarians had even brought VEELA to the World Cup one year! _How could Severus possibly have been prepared?

Except that Dumbledore had tried to prepare him, hadn't he? This whole thing was a PUNISHMENT! Snape should have known there was more to this than a few hours of discomfort and some exquisitely wasted time. Albus wanted him to learn a lesson in diplomacy. He had told Severus in no uncertain terms that he needed to treat those who irritated him with tolerance. Had he intended all along to put Snape in a position where his own arrogance caused him to fail? If so, that was suspiciously Slytherin behavior... Dumbledore had said something about Severus looking stupid. Well he certainly felt foolish now! Foolish and miserably guilty.

He had let Miss Granger down. Because of him, she and her team would never win first. Snape knew Hermione didn't care all that much about coming in first. She was more interested in just being her personal best. But he had wanted to give her that number one win anyway. It was the only type of present or reward that a man in his position could lawfully give a student he fancied. He wanted to make up for the way he had treated her earlier. He wanted to show her he cared. Now, he knew that he couldn't do that, and worse, he had caused her dishonor. It was in this miserable state of mind that he slunk back into the arena.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione frowned with concern as she watched Professor Snape enter the gymnasium. Something was obviously bothering him-- bothering him so badly that if it had been anyone else, she might have thought he was close to tears... or an act of desperation. The poor man looked awful. His skin was whiter than it's usual sallow shade. His face looked drawn. His eyes seemed grim and haunted, and he appeared unable to sit still.

It wasn't that Snape looked angry. Hermione had seen the professor in a fit of temper countless times (It _had_ once been his most habitual state.) But as he walked back to his seat in the judges box and hunkered down into it with a sort of defeated air, Hermione thought he looked more unhappy than piqued. He looked miserable, disconsolate, possibly even guilty. He looked as though he had just killed his best friend. What could have caused him such distress? What could possibly be wrong?

Did he just receive some terrible news? Had somebody close to him died? Was the professor possibly ill in some way? Oh, if only she knew what had happened! Hermione wanted to rush over to the Judges' table and demand he tell her the problem, but such an action wouldn't be proper. Snape was her teacher, and she just a student. Prying into his personal life would be rude and disrespectful, and he wouldn't appreciate the familiarity-- especially if she trespassed those teacher/student boundaries in the middle of a crowded gym!

But Snape didn't feel like a teacher anymore to Hermione. He felt like a friend. After working so closely with him the way she had done, she couldn't regard him the way she did her other teachers. She couldn't (as so many other students did) dismiss him as part of a separate human species, or conversely, she couldn't put him up on a pedestal either. The professor wasn't just an authority figure she had to please. He was a unique individual she respected-- and even liked.

Yes, strange as it might seem, she _liked_ Professor Snape. She found him intriguing, inspiring, and incredibly fascinating (though she still sometimes found him exasperating and irritating.) Hermione even found herself attracted to him, though she diligently shied away from actually admitting it. She cared about him as a person and she didn't want him upset or unhappy. If the professor had a problem, she wanted to help him. If he was in pain, she wanted to sooth him. If he was in trouble, she wanted to save him. She wanted to do whatever it took to bring him back to his normal, snarky equilibrium. The frustration of not being able to do anything for him at all hurt.

As the crowds revved up in the pre-performance interim and the music pounded ever louder, Hermione became progressively worried. Snape just sat in the Judges box, hands clenching spasmodically in front of him, black eyes staring morosely into space. She had never seen anyone look so wretched. He appeared not to be even aware of what he was looking at, his attention being focused on whatever troubles lay within. Something momentous was definitely worrying him. _Oh, if only she knew what was the matter! _

She continued to brood as the performance rounds started. Snape suddenly appeared more agitated. She saw him glance up at the Hogwarts section and back around the gym several times. He appeared to be doing some desperate thinking, and that led Hermione to even greater worry. Snape was their protector, their mainstay. If he was in trouble, then they were too. What would they do without him? Besides, she didn't want him to BE in trouble. She didn't want him to suffer in any way.

The first team took to the floor to begin their routine and Hermione sent up a prayer. She didn't know how much good it would do, but since it was the only action available to her at that moment, she gave it a try. _Oh please, _she thought in the direction of heaven. _Please, he's hurting. He's in trouble. Please! Help him. Or let ME do something to help him. But I don't know what I can do... _

Hogwarts was scheduled to perform last and that made waiting with all this uncertainty, more nerve-wracking than usual. Hermione watched the teams perform, but she didn't bother to analyze each performance the way she usually did. Winning didn't seem as important to her, so worried was she about the professor. (Of course _Snape _would care if they won, but he was unusually distracted at the moment.) Most of the teams seemed to be doing rather well, in her less than critical opinion. All except the third team on the list... They appeared to be new, very awkward, and very badly trained. _Poor things..._ She sent up a prayer for them too.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Snape reentered the arena like a man going to the gallows. He didn't want to have to face his failure but he knew he had to do it. This was his punishment after all. He had to take it, had to suck it up, and after all this was over _then_ he could hide in his dungeon and drown himself in firewhiskey... Except he couldn't do that either. Such behavior would be weakness. He had to keep trying, keep fighting. Even if he was sure to lose, he couldn't give up. And he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him miserable either. He had to keep up appearances.

But sitting back down in his judges chair, trying to look as dignified as he still could, Snape only felt sick. There had to be something he could do. _There just HAD to be something still he could do! _He cast a look at the nearest catty judge and shivered. Undoing his mistake would take a miracle. In order for his team to win he would have to charm these Muggles and Snape just wasn't a charming person. There was no _way _he could change their negative attitude. He hadn't the slightest idea how. He hadn't the proper skills to play the complicated game, or dance, that polite society required to win friends and influence people. Severus Snape simply wasn't made that way.

The arena had heated up to almost fever pitch, and Snape took his earplugs out to let the deafening music blast him. He felt he deserved the pain, and he took perverse satisfaction in the waves of sound that began pounding into his head. _Let him get a migraine. It would be just punishment!_ And if he was going to have a headache, he thought at least the cause was marginally worthy. For once, the musical selection wasn't hip-hop or dance, but something from the rock and roll genre. He nodded imperceptibly as thunderous percussion beat through the floor, up through his chair, and into his bones.

The song playing was a rousing one-- one that actually made him want to move. The rest of the crowd seemed similarly affected. People all over the bleachers were singing along, many were standing on their feet and doing "the wave" to it. Snape knew the band was Bon Jovi, and it was a band he normally liked. He normally like this song too, but today he couldn't really appreciate it. In his current wretched state of mind, the words seemed more mocking than hopeful:

**We've got to hold on to what we've got!**

**Cause it doesn't make a difference**

**If we make it or not.**

**We've got each other, and that's a lot**

**For love-- We'll give it a shot!**

**Whoa-- oh! We're halfway there**

**Whoa-- OH! Livin' on a prayer!**

**Take my hand, and we'll make it I swear.**

**Whoa-- OH! Livin' on a prayer!**

_Living on a prayer... _Should he pray? Snape sighed heavily. He had never prayed in his life. He had no idea where to direct a prayer! And why should it even be answered? Snape had always held a dim view of people who whined to deities, asking help for problems they had created themselves. Religious institutions worldwide seemed crowded with supplicants down on their knees, all anguishing over their own bad decisions, desperately begging that two and two would not equal four...

Severus knew he was responsible for his current situation. He had no one to blame but himself. If he were tempted to pray, it would be for the courage and strength to do whatever was necessary to fix his own problem-- no matter what it was that he would have to do. He didn't even know if it was _possible_ to fix the mess he was in. It was a miracle he needed, after all. If only he knew what solution there might be, or if any solution could actually exist.

Some cheerleaders were doing some last minute practicing, and he winced as a couple of them made abysmal tumbling errors. Who trained these girls, an ape? And what stupid coach was letting them practice this close to their performance? The team in question was third on the roster. They'd be too tired to properly execute their routine! Not that it would matter, he thought darkly. _The judges would STILL give them more points than_ _his team! It was so blastedly, flamingly unfair! _

There was only one Tournament after this-- only one more chance to woo these judges and change their opinion of him, and he knew that wasn't enough time. That Tournament was only in a week. He'd need much more than a week to work on these nasty harpies—even if he humbled himself, got down on his knees, and licked their feet. The whole thing was hopeless. All their efforts had been for nothing. He had let Miss Granger and the rest of the team down. He, Severus Snape, was a failure.

But maybe there was another way for the girls to still win... What if he gave the team to someone else? What if he gave it to Lupin? Snape's stomach lurched at the idea of giving his team, _HIS team, _to Remus Lupin of all people, but it was the only possible solution he could think of. Severus was the one who had pissed off the judges, and as long as he was their leader the Hogwarts team would suffer. It was _he_ who was holding them back, so he was the one who to have to go. If he wanted them to win, he would have to lose.

And it might possibly work. Lupin was likable. He was affable and charming. He had the sort of mild, genial manner these Muggle women would simply eat up. They'd take him to their bosoms and adopt him as one of their own the way everyone else who met Remus always did. Never in million years would they suspect he had a darker side, that he was a monster. They'd never know he was a werewolf.

A werewolf! _Sweet Merlin, would it be safe? Could he actually do it? _The next Tournament was in a week. When was the next full moon? Snape did some frantic calculating. There had been a full moon at the time of the first Competition. But how long ago had that been? _And horror of horrors, was he late making the potion? _Werewolves only changed at night, didn't they? But weren't there instances of the moon appearing by day as well? Snape hadn't heard of werewolves being active by day, but the possibility did exist. Could he risk it? Did he _dare _risk it?

The first competing team took to the mat and Snape analyzed their performance, trying frantically at the same time to recall the next weeks' lunar timetable. He made appropriate marks on the score sheet but wished he had some extra parchment to do some figuring. Instead he made surreptitious marks on the table with his pencil. Another team began their routine and he kept at it, watching them, grading them, and trying desperately to think. _The last Tournament was a week ago, and there was one two weeks before that... or was it one week... perhaps it was a week before the Tournament before it..._

It was no use, he had to have a lunar chart. Snape didn't seem to be able to think straight at all. He felt as lost and inept as the third group before him bungling their routine. This team really shouldn't be performing at all, he thought darkly. They were worse than his own had been before he had stepped in and taken a hand in their training. They had no proper form, didn't seem to understand the mechanics of cradling and lifting, and weren't using any safety precautions. If they didn't watch out, someone was going to wind up seriously hurt...

A dangerously executed move snapped Snape suddenly out of his reverie. The team had formed up for a pyramid and rushed recklessly through the lift. They took hold of their flyer improperly, lifted her the wrong way, and then jerked her into the air with enough force to send her soaring out of control. While Snape watched horrified, events seemed to happen in slow motion. The girl careened literally over the heads of her team mates to tumble face down towards the mat. There was a sickening crunch as her head hit the floor, and screams began sounding from the stands.

Snape wasn't even aware he had vaulted over the Judge's table. He was conscious only of the need to get to the injured child as fast as he could. As he approached at a run, her stricken team mates were also converging.

"Stay back! Don't touch her!" he snarled in his trademark voice of authority and instantly they fell away.

Upon reaching her, he felt her neck swiftly for a pulse. It was faint, so very faint. Through his touch he could feel the life slipping away from her, and he struggled with all his magical might to hold onto it and keep it from sliding completely into oblivion. His ring-wand tingled and pulsed with heat as he tried to pull her back from the brink, channeling his own strength into her. But Snape had only enough strength to hold onto her, not to heal. The type of healing she needed took tremendous power, and without help or the proper magical implements, all his efforts would probably fail. His desperation echoed the screaming all around him.

Movement flickered on the edges of his sight and someone knelt beside him. It was Miss Granger of course. She was here as he somehow always knew she would be-- the dependable assistant, the perfect partner, the other set of efficient, competent hands that he needed so badly, a heart and mind he could always count on. Other feet followed rapidly.

"Quick girls!" she commanded. "Form a shield wall! Make a ring around the professor!" Bodies closed around him.

"It's all right!" he heard her shout to the arena at large. "It's OK! He knows what he's doing! He was a medic... in the Commandos!"

The word "commando" meant nothing to Snape, but he did understand "medic." If all these people would just leave him alone for only a few minutes...

"What can I do, Professor?"

"Third pocket, right side of my coat, there is a blue vial." She found it swiftly. "Put a drop on this child where my ring hand is, and another on my other palm." She did it. "Now take my hand. I need your strength."

Hermione didn't hesitate. She put her hand in his and squeezed it firmly, the drop of potion opening a connection for him to draw strength from her. He had only seconds. The injured cheerleader was hanging onto life by only the thinnest of threads. Snape pulled again to draw her up, and as he did so power flowed into him. Miss Granger's strength suddenly added to his own-- strength that was warm, caring, and beautiful beyond belief. Then amazingly he sensed other strengths, the combined powers of the entire team. An empty potion vial landed on the floor next to him. His whole team was giving him their all.

He had almost no time. Quickly, his mind probed straight to the problem. He found the broken bones and severed nerves and worked feverishly to mend them. Jagged, splintered edges flowed back together, torn tissues and ligaments reknit themselves. Broken blood vessels rejoined seamlessly, and a spinal chord that had almost completely snapped reformed itself vital and whole.

Sweat dripped down his face as Severus made the last important connection. His hands shook as he finally let go. He had fixed the worst of the injuries and had left the girl with only bruises. Had there been more time he would have given her a much more complete cure, but urgent changes in the sounds around him warned his time was up. Even as he rose to his feet, Muggles with a stretcher were coming in the door.

"Enervate," he ordered softly. The girl's eyes flew open. "Obliviate," and they glazed over dully.

Snape stood up, carefully pocketing the potion vial, and faced the official looking Muggles hurrying toward him with the stretcher.

"There are no broken bones," he informed the stretcher-bearers. "It should be safe to move her, but do so gently."

"Who are _you_?" one of them asked him dubiously.

"A medic with the Commandos," he replied smoothly remembering Miss Granger's words. "I made an emergency examination after the incident and found she has no life threatening injuries. But she will still need to be moved very carefully. There will be extensive bruising around the neck, upper back, and shoulders, and I'm sure she is in terrible pain. Carry on."

Unbelievably, the Muggle healers didn't challenge him so he was able to step carefully away. But as he did so, a wild eyed, frantic woman barreled desperately toward him from the stands. "My daughter! My daughter! What happened to her? What happened!"

Snape met her squarely. "Your child will be fine, Madam. Thankfully, she escaped serious injury."

The mother rushed past him and tried to push herself between the Muggle stretcher-bearers to get to the hurt cheerleader. "Chrissy! Chrissy! Oh God, please. Please let her be alright! _Let me see her!_"

She struggled with the paramedics working on the girl, and Snape dragged her bodily away from them. "Let go of me!" she screeched, flailing at him. "_Let go!_ That's my little baby!" He took her firmly by the shoulders and shook her a little.

"**Madam, calm yourself!**" he ordered, and when she seemed unable to do that he infused the command with magic. "Look at me!" She paused suddenly in her hysteria and stared at him, her breath catching in a sob. "Your daughter is going to be fine," he said slowly. "She is alive, she has no broken bones, and she will not be paralyzed. She may even practice this sport again if given proper care-- but I'd suggest you _flay _her incompetent coach... Right now she is in pain and very frightened. YOU have to be strong for her. Do you understand?" She nodded. "Approach her gently and let the healers do their job. Be thankful it isn't worse."

After pausing a second to make sure the mother wouldn't hinder the healers, Snape strode over to the the cowering cheerleaders responsible for the accident to inform them that their friend would be alright. He also told them in no uncertain terms _exactly _what they had done wrong, what the consequences could possibly have been, and how to make sure that it never happened again... It was a lecture those girls would never forget. That done, he turned to face the music. He thanked his team for their help, dismissed them, and then walked slowly toward the Hogwarts fan section.

Stepping off the mat, he was immediately joined by Lupin, Tonks, and a crowd of other witches and wizards. Severus felt sick and shaky from the aftermath of using such powerful magic, and the sight of so many Aurors didn't help. He knew he would have to be disciplined, of course. He had broken the rules. Doing so had been necessary, but that wasn't really an excuse. He had to take what was coming, even if it was a bitter pill to swallow. _Why did things always go this way for him? Why did his choices have to be so hard? _Well, at least he now had a plausible reason for stepping down...

"You'll have to take over, Lupin," he said heavily. "It shouldn't be all that hard for you. I've left notes-- not that you'll read them. Just take points off for mistakes..."

"Take over? Like in the Judges' Box?" Lupin sounded confused.

"Waddya talking about Snape?" asked Tonks. "Make sense, will ya?"

"_I've just used magic in front of Muggles!"_ he hissed scathingly. "I've broken the Law of Secrecy! You honestly can't believe I'm so stupid as to not know what that means! Naturally you're going to arrest me!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" laughed Lupin.

"Yeah," said another.

"Relax Snape. No one's going to be arrested." Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice was reassuring and calm, but that only added to Snape's agitation.

"You're Aurors! It's your duty!" he said in sputtering outrage.

"Well, we're _off_-duty right now," chirped Tonks brightly. "We didn't see anything. None of us did."

"You saved a life, Snape," said Lupin softly. "As far as I know that's not a crime. No one's going to arrest you for preventing a tragedy. You're a hero, Snape. You're not the villain this time... and I don't think you ever really were."

Severus stared at Lupin almost dumbstruck while Minerva McGonagall strode briskly over to them.

"I must say, Severus. That was an impressive bit of magical healing. However did you do it without a wand? It appears you have powers none of us imagined."

"He has a wand hidden in his ring!" Tonks put in eagerly. "Cool, huh?"

"Do you? Well good thinking. And thank heaven for it! That poor child would have died without your help. But you mustn't let your little fan-club here keep you from doing your job, Severus. You need to get back to your Judges' Box and represent our school. Go on now, they're waiting for you!"

Snape didn't want to think about what was waiting for him at the Judges' Box. He had no idea how much those Muggles had seen, or how much they would understand, but he was sure their opinion of it wouldn't be good. His behavior must have looked odd-- possibly rather foolish. They'd have a lot more to sneer and snigger about now, and he wouldn't be able to say a thing in his own defense. But there was nothing at all he could do about it. This was just one of those tortures he had to endure. Severus turned around to head back to the rack.

But for some strange reason the Judges' Box didn't look the same. Something was subtlely different. It was as though a lens had been placed in front of the scene to effectively change its appearance. For a split second Severus thought that it must be his eyes. All that magical effort must have impaired him in some way to cause problems with his vision...

Then he realized it wasn't his eyes at all. The appearance of the Judges' Box looked different because the judges _themselves_ looked different. The expressions on their faces were completely alien from what he had come to expect. Every one of them, from the bossy blond to the Muggle queer were smiling. They were all smiling at _him_.

Severus blinked for a moment to make sure it wasn't really his eyes after all, but no amount of blinking changed the scene. The Muggle judges who had eyed him earlier with blistering disdain couldn't possibly be more welcoming now. They beamed broadly. Their eyes were alight. They viewed his approach with such avid eagerness that Snape was suddenly reminded of a picture he had once seen of a Japanese lady gazing worshipfully at a Sumo wrestler. They all seemed to regard him as a conquering hero. Severus relaxed and approached his seat with far less trepidation while adoring eyes followed him.

"Were you really in the Commandos?" the blond judge asked breathlessly.

"Yes, at one time."

Snape had no idea what the "Commandos" were but it was obviously prudent to play along. Years of espionage had taught him that buying time verbally often led to further information. Besides, _Com_mando sounded like _com_mand, or possibly _com_bat. They were probably referring to some sort of fighting force. And it appeared he was right. While the Muggle medical team sorted out the injured girl, the music had been left off. Severus caught many more whispers and murmurs than he otherwise would have as the Muggle judges conferred ecstatically:

"The Commandos!"

"Who knew!"

"No wonder he's so stiff and proper."

"And we just thought he was conceited..."

"That's not conceit, that's _military!" _

"And did you see how he just took charge?"

"Such a strong, capable man."

"There's no one like the Marines in a crisis!"

"I wonder what he looks like in uniform..."

"Ooh! I just _love _a man in uniform!"

"And the Royal Marines have the _nicest _dress uniforms."

"The absolute best!"

Sitting in his chair, Snape did his best to keep his back straight and his head erect. He had no idea _how _it had happened, but somehow he been handed a miracle-- and whether he had divine providence or pure, blind chance to thank for it (he had a hard time believing in either,) he certainly wasn't going to quibble. Slytherin to the last, he was going to make the best of it. The women, and even the queer, just ate it up.

"Which division were you in, Mr. Snape?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss it, Madam. I'm not at leave to do so. My work was classified."

"Top secret!" breathed a brunette judge.

"Oh, we understand!" assured another.

"Can you tell us why you left the service?" asked the horse-faced judge.

"My health," replied Snape. "I had an injury."

Sympathetic eyes bathed him with kindness. Goodwill flowed warmly about him. Absolutely nobody simpered. They all were sitting up straight and proud and regarding him with fervent respect. Snape honestly couldn't believe what had happened to him. _What really were the odds?_ Not only had he gone from pariah to hero in the span of mere minutes, but his status had taken a further massive leap. He wasn't just seen as a former soldier, now he was a _wounded veteran! _

Snape curbed an impulse for hysterical laughter. _If only these silly women knew! _But a sobering thought occurred to him. Perhaps they really weren't so far off the mark... He HAD been a spy for the Order, and he had been in The Battle as well. No matter what he had done in the past, he _had _fought on the proper side in the end (and he'd been injured a few times too.) The Wizarding World hadn't honored him much, and Snape had accepted that because of all his former guilt. How odd that these Muggles should honor him now-- when they didn't even know what they were honoring him for.

The experience of being appreciated made Severus feel warm and accepted. He suddenly regarded these Muggles more favorably.

"I apologize to all of you," he said solemnly, "for my rudeness in the past. It was unconscionable. The only thing I can say in my defense is that this whole experience," He gestured with his hand around the entire immense arena. "Has been totally new for me."

"Oh don't _mention _it!" a Muggle judge assured him.

"Just _forget _the whole thing!"

"We're all friends now!"

"And we didn't exactly treat _you _as well as we should have." The Muggle Queer looked sorrowfully earnest. The dapper man who had once been audaciously mocking, now seemed almost shy.

"No, we certainly didn't," came an echo.

"Imagine accusing _you _of stealing!"

"As if you would bother to do something so frivolous and silly!"

"Do forgive us!"

"Certainly," Snape replied with as much dignity and goodwill as he could muster. "Perhaps we could start over, begin our association on better footing."

He was answered with nods and smiles.

The rest of the Tournament passed more pleasantly than Severus could ever have imagined. It was amazing how tollerable even irritating people could seem when they actually liked him. Severus found himself conferring genially with the other judges. They asked his opinion on every team. Snape even left his earplugs out so that he could hear their questions better. He didn't even seem to mind the noise.

His own team did much less than their best effort, but then it was only what he had expected. In using them to help heal that injured cheerleader, he had sapped quite a bit of their collective strength. The Hogwarts Flyers were just too tired now to deliver anything close to a stellar performance. But he was proud of them for trying, even as he was proud of them for sacrificing their win in order to help him save a life.

Because he knew they had understood exactly what they were doing when they joined their strength to his. He had felt it. How amazing that his girls should have been so unselfish, so giving-- except that it really wasn't so amazing after all. They were Hogwarts students, weren't they? They here _his! _And most importantly, they had Miss Granger for their leader and mentor. It was she who had led them to do what they did. Severus would never forget the taste of Hermione's strength in his mind, the vital, steadfast sweetness of it. He would remember it till his dying day, just as he would remember the touch of her hand in his...

The Muggle judges were incredibly forgiving of his teams' imperfections. They looked sympathetic after every little flaw. The consensus seemed to be that all the earlier excitement had thrown them off their game and that their performance problems weren't totally their fault. The scores they received were generous. They ended up in third place! Snape struggled monumentally to appear humble instead of gloating. Their miracle was almost complete! He smiled at each judge in turn and did his best to be charming. The harder he tried, the easier it became.

"We'll see you next week, won't we Mr. Snape?"

"Most certainly, Madam. I wouldn't miss it for the world!"

Surprisingly, life was definitely good.

AUTHOR'SNOTES.AUTHOR'SNOTES.AUTHOR'SNOTES.AUTHOR'SNOTES.AUTHOR'SNOTE

_Author's Note 1. Cheerleading is THE most dangerous high school sport today. Much of the problem stems from the fact that it is under regulated. Most athletic departments don 't consider it a true sport, so it remains unfunded and unofficial. Coaching varies and many coaches aren't properly trained. I recently saw a television documentary showing a stunting disaster very much like the one I described in this chapter. The girl who fell on her head was only bruised but she could easily have been killed or paralyzed. My own daughter is a flyer and she is delighted to do it, but it scares me spitless. I don't want to forbid her to participate because she takes such pride in it and she works hard to master her skills. She also has a coach who insists on proper form and safety. But every time I'm in the stands watching her, I'm praying, "Please Lord, don't let her fall! Please don't let her get hurt!" The anguished woman in the story could be any of the mothers I know... or me, God forbid!_

_Author's note 2. I got the military idea from an incident at work. I work at a store, and I happened to be present when the Marines came to collect the Toys-for-Tots donations one Christmas. They showed up in full dress uniform... Every female in eye shot-- especially the older ones-- just about melted. They were all practically drooling! I heard rapturous cries of, "Oh, they're so handsome!" or "Don't they look gorgeous in their uniforms?" I thought it was hysterical. Now this incident happened well before our current Middle East problem, but I do think that if they showed up today in our store, they would still get the same reaction. There seems to be something about men in uniform that stirs female blood. I appear to be immune to that, but then "to each their own." Not everyone thinks Severus Snape is sexy either! And I will say that the sight of young men dressed NEATLY in a Wal-Mart is unexpectedly pleasant. _

_Author's Note 3. One of the lines in this chapter was inspired by a quote from the Barbara Hambly novel, __The Silent Tower.__ In it the mad wizard Antryg makes this remark: "Funny," he said, "if you're a mage, they always ask you to read the future, as if knowing it will help. I think three-fourths of all prayers prayed are for two and two to not equal four." It sounded to me like something Snape would think, but in far more sardonic tones._

_By the way, __The Silent Tower__ and its sequel, __The Silicon Mage__ are two of the best written fantasy books I have ever read. I recommend them highly._


	18. Memories of Triumph, Expectation of Loss

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 18: **_**Memories of Triumph, Expectations of Loss **_

Severus reclined in his chair, regarding the enormous trophy proudly gracing his desk. They had actually done it. _First Place! _After so many weeks of hard work, careful scheming, and endless practice, they had finally achieved their goal. His girls were now champions and so, in a way, was he. He should feel jubilant, vindicated. He had struggled against the odds and won. _So why wasn't he all that happy?_ Where was his satisfaction? Why instead this odd sense of anticlimax?

It was all over. This Competition had been the last of the season, the last of the year. Now there would be no more Cheerleading-- no more practices or Tournaments, no more hours of intrigue over coaching manuals and Cheerleading videos, and no more sessions with Miss Granger to brainstorm strategies for the team. Soon Miss Granger would be gone as well. The school year was ending and she was about to graduate. Soon she'd walk completely out of his life.

Of course it had to happen. He had always known that it would. Snape had been a fool to get too close to that pretty young Gryffindor. It had been the stupidest thing he had ever done to let himself care for her the way he did. Hermione Granger, scrumptious though she was, was his _student. _Teachers who fancied students only set themselves up for trouble... and failure. Students weren't known to fall in love with their teachers- even after graduation, and while there had been notable exceptions, he had no right to think one would happen for him. Miss Granger would leave and he would have to bid her goodbye. All he could keep was the trophy, and the memories...

He took his mind back to that last Competition and the wild celebration that had followed. What a bizarrely incredible experience! Snape had presided over many Slytherin victories. He had preened for years while Slytherin controlled the House Cup. He had held his head high when his students took honors, or when his house won at Quiddich, but he had never savored a championship quite as much as he had this one.

Perhaps it was only because it had been so unlikely, or because he had worked so hard to master something foreign. Maybe it was that he had triumphed in a situation designed to make him fail, or had earned the admiration of people he had once alienated. ...Or perhaps it was only that Miss Granger had hugged him in the end... _Well, they had all hugged him in the end-- all sixteen of them! It wasn't as if she had done it on her own, or by herself!_ But the memory was still sweet even now.

Snape shook his head. He would have to buy his own Pensieve. That way he could relive that little piece of history again and again-- watch her young form pressed against his, re experience the feel of her vital warmth and the scent of her as she squeezed him, feel the tickle of her silly wiglet on his cheek as she rested her head so briefly on his shoulder. Imagine Miss Granger Hugging him! _Imagine all the other girls following suit in front of the entire watching staff! Lupin would rib him about it for years... _How had it happened? Why had it happened?

It was probably only the golden haze of victory in his memory, but the entire day of the Competition had seemed positive. The girls were confident. So were their fans. Their whole company had strode into that last arena with a joyful feeling of expectation. They had practiced harder than ever, they all knew they were good, and Snape knew the Muggle judges would eat right out of his hand. On top of that, even more fans were coming this time to watch them. They were expecting a full house.

Once, Severus had worried that other wizards would look down on him for associating with Cheerleading, but now he found it didn't bother him. Who cared if anyone laughed at him? Most people didn't like him anyway (probably because he had insulted every one of them at some point,) so who cared what they thought of him now? Snape had passed the word around to faculty and alumni alike that Hogwarts needed spectators. He still was amazed at the response he had got.

Almost all of the faculty were up in the bleachers, dressed in an odd assortment of Muggle garb. There were even proud parents in the Hogwarts section, looking around a bit nervously, obviously wondering if they were safe without their wands. Snape had sent them a superior, secret smirk. Only a few weeks ago he had felt the same as they did, but now he knew there was little to worry about from the crowds of underage Muggles-- even the ones with pierced eyebrows and tribal style clothing.

The real danger was in the sport itself-- a sport that had almost claimed the life of one of its own at last week's Competition. Cheerleading appeared so very cute and innocent, but it was as perilous as Quiddich could often be. Snape found the obvious alarm on the faces from his world ironic, and he mentally shook his head at the way he had _thought _all those weeks ago. He also wanted to laugh at the scandalized looks some of the parents were displaying over team attire and moves.

But those parents would have to get used to it. Cheerleading would catch on all over the Wizarding World. He was sure of it. Years from now cheerleaders on brooms would be performing at every Quiddich match. Fans would expect to see short-skirted, pretty girls doing amazing stunts in the air while flashing impossibly perky smiles. As time went on, no one would even remember it had started out as Muggle. He wondered if someday they would remember he had once been a part of it.

Severuse had taken his seat at the judge's table with far more comfort than before since he knew a welcome awaited him. He was greeted with warm miles and he didn't find it hard to smile back.

"Well, well, Mr. Snape," one of the judges had said. "You certainly have a lot of friends here today!"

"Yes I do," was his proud reply, remembering wryly that he had once claimed to have no friends at all.

"And your team even has _Super-fans!_"

Snape assumed they were referring to Potter and Weasley who were wearing their bright orange Chudley Cannons robes. Those two seemed to have brought their entire team with them and they stood out like wild flames amid the somber colors of the other wizards.

"Oh, and look at your mascot!"

"Isn't that_ cute!"_

Filius Flitwick was having the time of his life. The Charms teacher was the perfect size to wear the mascot costume, and Snape watched in bemusement as the little wizard, dressed as a phoenix, gamboled playfully in front of the stands. _Now why didn't I think of that before? _What a perfect solution! Little Flitwick could ogle all the pretty girls he wanted inside that disguise and no one would be the wiser. One couldn't even tell where the eyes _were _in that thing... It was perfectly safe.

"What sort of a bird is that?" asked the Muggle Queer whose name Snape had learned was Rick.

"A phoenix. It's a mythical creature that rises from it's own ashes to begin all over again. We all thought it appropriate."

With smiles and nods they all agreed with him. He had come a long way.

The wizard fans in the stands were behaving splendidly. There wasn't a trace of magical transgression, which was surprising. Whenever large amounts of wizards congregated-- especially if they were closely packed into a small space-- sparks of some kind, benign or otherwise, were likely to fly. Snape would have bet his overly large nose there would have been at least one mistake. But there were no weird happenings- no hexes turning anyone's hair green, no rabbits popping out of hats, no dungbombs. There weren't even any owls flying overhead. Of course the Weasley twins weren't here...

No doubt it was Dumbledore keeping them all in line. Even dressed in mundane Muggle casual wear, beard tucked comically into his t-shirt, he still exuded a strong aura of benevolent power and authority. Snape scanned the name on the old man's shirt. _Korn? Unbelievable! He couldn't really listen to that! _Not that Snape was a complete musical snob... In his very misspent youth, he had been an avid fan of Black Sabbath, but at least it had been in his youth! And even if he still confessed a fondness for Metallica, he _was_ relatively young. Albus was well over a hundred. Listening to Rock music at that age was indecent!

Dumbledore caught him looking his way (uncanny how he always seemed to be able to do that,) grinned like a mad elf, and waved at him. Severus nodded in return. It had to be mere coincidence. The grandfatherly old head master must have picked up that shirt _used_ somewhere. Mundungus Fletcher, sitting several places away, probably got it for him. Surely Dumbledore didn't fancy the "Metal" scene-- though with Albus, one could never be sure... The picture of his employer dancing in a mosh pit was one mental place Snape didn't want to go.

An alarming thought suddenly occurred to him. How many teachers were here? He counted heads quickly and shuddered. If all the faculty were in attendance, who was minding the store at Hogwarts? He counted again: There was Dumbledore; McGonagall again; Flitwick in the bird suit; Sprout (what a get-up she had on!); Pomfrey; Oglevie; Vector; Sinistra; even Trelawney was here (beads, glasses, shawls, and all!) The only teacher NOT in attendance was Hagrid, and that was probably only due to the fact of his size. He'd either break the bleachers or attract too much attention... _Sweet Merlin! Did that mean only Hagrid and... FILCH were watching the school? _

Whatever was Dumbledore thinking? Did he realize the situation he had created? Snape frowned up at him in inquiry, but Albus only smiled again. Of course he knew. And of course he had some sort of emergency fail-safe in case things got out of hand. Severus could only imagine what was going on back home. Hagrid was probably outside prowling the perimeter, leaving Filch to hold fort in the castle. And old Argus would be in his glory! This would be his moment of triumph, if not his wildest dream. _Snape didn't want to explore Filch's wildest dreams. They probably involved whips and chains... _Heaven help the student who crossed lines today!

Dumbledore had to be compensating Filch for his earlier suffering. That vindictive old squib was likely the only staff member who _didn't _think it was a treat to come here. And Snape would probably have to confer with him later over how many miscreants he had caught. It would put them back on cordial terms again. _Those poor students would be overjoyed to see SNAPE back after a day at the mercy of Filch! _He did feel sorry for Hagrid though. When he got his new Pensieve, Hagrid would be the only person he'd let in to show his memories.

The practice sessions breezed through, and then it was time for the final performances. Despite the faith he had in his girls, Snape had been tempted to nail-biting nervousness by the time his team was called. He knew they were good. He knew they could be today's champions, but there was always still the chance some silly little accident or mistake would happen. Important wizards were watching. Miss Granger's _parents _were watching! The trimly dressed, obviously normal couple on the end had to be them. The woman had the same shaped face, and the man had the same curly hair. Severus wanted them to be impressed. He wanted all the parents to see their little witches win. He also wanted Dumbledore to see how well he had mastered his "punishment."

**Hogwarts Flyers on to the mat! **

The whole arena had hushed. Wizards and witches who had been ogling the Muggle scene, heads swinging this way and that to take it all in, suddenly came to attention when they heard the school's name. Everyone watched as the girls ran out on to the mat, uniforms neat, white trainers gleaming, bright, infectious smiles on fresh, joyful faces.

"Go Hogwarts!" bellowed Potter, standing up in his gaudy Quiddich finery and waving a school flag.

"Fly high, Hogwarts!" Ron yelled jumping up after him, and second later the whole army of Wizarding spectators screamed, waved flags, and sounded noisemakers. Horns tooted, cymbals clanged. Miss Lovegood was shrilling some sort of air-siren.

Snape felt dazed. No other fan section had yet been as loud. No other section was quite as weird either. Dumbledore looked like a starved Santa Claus at a rock concert. Most of the others resembled escapees from a carnival. Merlin only knew what the surrounding Muggles thought of them, but no one could deny that his team moved a crowd.

The girls got into formation, the music started, and the din from the stands died down. Snape watched with soaring pride as his team executed a flawlessly beautiful, perfectly balanced, meticulously timed routine. He almost had tears in his eyes-- except he didn't, of course, have tears. His eyes were only watering due to the close heat, bad air, and thunderous music in the arena... He hadn't thought to wear his ear-protectors today. How silly of him!

But he was proud-- proud that he had got his team to this level of skill and discipline, and proud he could show them off. Miss Granger did a string of handsprings ending in a pike. She landed only a few feet away from where he sat in the judge's table, and Snape's gut experienced a jolt. Flashing him a dazzling smile, she turned around to tumble back across the mat.

**"**_**We're the team that can't be beat!"**_

_**"Flyers! You know it!" **_

"YOU KNOW IT!" thundered the wizards.

_**"F- L- Y- E- R- S!**_

_**"FLYERS! THE BEST!" **_

"THE BEST!" came the echo.

When the performance ended, the whole arena was cheering. Hundreds of Muggles seemed to have been affected by the Hogwarts team, and by the looks on the judge's faces, Snape knew they had most probably won. This Competion was in the bag! He marked his score sheet with greater than usual satisfaction. He hadn't found one mistake in the entire thing.

After that, Snape hardly noticed what happened, so euphoric was he that his team had triumphed under pressure. A few other teams performed after, and Snape graded them, but the process was purely mechanical. The next thing he knew, it was time to hand in his score sheets for tabulation, and the music heralding the common dance had started. A joyful face had materialized at his elbow and young, smooth hands had taken his in order to drag him away from the other judges and out on to the mat. The hands belonged to Miss Granger.

As deafening music thundered and crashed, and dancing forms weaved and bobbed like demons around him, Snape suddenly found himself caught up in the girl's swift, fierce hug. He had only a second to react, but his Slytherin instincts, only slightly dulled by the current maelstrom, were far from dead. He folded her against him, enclosing her quickly, feeling her soft, sturdy form and her delicious shape warming his before following the strict conventions and releasing her. He experienced a pang as her body withdrew, even as he saw her face alight with joy as she stepped back from him.

For a second, they stared at each other-- he stunned and inflamed, she brimming with energy and excited embarrassment. Then moments later he was engulfed by all of them, all fifteen bouncy cheerleaders each waiting their turn to squeeze the stuffing out of him. Somehow, he survived. All he remembered of that time had been _her... _

Then, unbelievably, they were all trying to get him to dance to "Cotton-eyed Joe." Snape didn't actually dance... Dignity forbade that he actually DO that, but he did sort of put a foot down (once or twice) more or less in time to the racket. And he _did _allow them to link arms with him on occasion-- providing Miss Granger's was one of the arms linked with his. _He'd pay for it later, that was for certain. Strange how at that moment, he couldn't help himself. _

But surprisingly, other wizards besides him were mixing with the crush of teens now hopping about like Hadean imps. Lupin and Tonks were dancing with wild abandon. (Tonks had given him a hug too.) Potter and Weasley, followed by a motley assortment of aurors and Quiddich players, were weaving throughout the crowd in a snake-like human chain. Albus Dumbledore was making a fool out of himself, with Minerva following suit, and little Flitwick was ducking around and between cheerleaders, comically innocuous even in his brightly colored phoenix suit.

Severus _really_ hoped Filius wasn't using the occasion to pinch pubescent bottoms, but if he was, there wasn't much that could be done about it. Snape could hardly go charging through this tight crowd to grab their mascot by the scruff of his neck and haul him out of the building. It would attract too much negative attention. Besides, no one would ever believe his reason anyway. In this press it was just possible none of the victims would even notice-- or if they did, be able to identify the culprit. But if that little lech put a paw on Miss Granger, Snape would stomp on his toes... _and_ hex him later!

He managed to get himself out of the mess just as Kasper's "Cha-cha slide" began to _boom! Boom! _throughout the arena. _No WAY was he going to dance to that! _

"I thought you didn't want your students to love you," teased one of the judges, laughing at his dishabille.

"I still don't," he answered back. "I barely got out of there alive. Cheerleading is a highly dangerous sport!"

Lupin came up to him at that moment and made to congratulate him in a slightly maudlin way. "I just wanted to let you know, Snape," he gushed in heartfelt emotion. "You did the BEST job anyone could have done! I'm proud to know you, man!" He shook Snape's hand vigorously.

"Who was that?" asked one of the judges, looking slightly askance at Lupin as he went back to dance with purple-haired Tonks. (Slide to the left. Boom! Boom! Slide to the right. Boom! Boom!)

"One of my colleagues. I used to hate him, but I find he's rather grown on me."

"Like mold?" asked the blond judge.

Snape burst into startled, malicious laughter. _So much for the famous Lupin charm! _"Now that's the best quip I've heard yet today!" he said. "You don't mind if I make use of it later?"

"Oh, not at all."

The dancing ended soon after that and the announcer read off the awards. Second and third places went to the Wolchester Warriors, and the Mistlethwaite Rams.

"**And first place goes to... THE HOGWARTS FLYERS!" **

Screams erupted from the magical fan section. Witches and wizards had leaped to their feet and were stomping up and down on the bleachers, yelling themselves hoarse and hugging each other in triumph. Noisemakers crashed and flags fluttered while someone let loose a bunch of balloons. Some of those balloons were glowing weirdly... _Look sharp Albus! I thought you were here to prevent trouble! _

Miss Granger walked proudly up to the announcer's podium to pick up the winning trophy. All the girls crowded around her in a wild victory hug, the trophy held high over their heads as they bounced joyfully arm in arm. Muggle cameras flashed and magical cameras joined them. Colin Creavey had a new model that shot green sparks. _H__opefully, no one will notice..._

The judge's parting comments caught him by surprise.

"Surely we'll see you again next year, Mr. Snape!" said the blond judge with a smile.

He paused, suddenly realizing he was seeing the end of it all, the final chapter of this Cheerleading adventure. "That depends entirely upon my head master," he had said carefully.

_Next year...? _

"Your head master?" asked another judge.

"You mean the one who made you do this as a punishment?" Rick the Queer quirked an eyebrow at him.

Wicked grins flashed his way.

A brunette judge winked. "Well, that's simple then," she laughed. "Just be naughty!"

"And don't tell us you don't remember how!"

He managed to give them a "who, me?" look and a smirk. "Thank you for that advice. Though I suppose for it to actually work I'd have to complain loudly about how much I hate doing this." He favored them with a trademark Snape scowl. "What do you think? Shall I be successful?"

"I can't imagine YOU to fail!" laughed the horse faced judge.

"You haven't met my head master, yet," Snape commented dryly. "He's the white haired fellow over there in the _Korn_ shirt."

A few judges looked at him in sympathy.

"Oh, tell us something, Mr. Snape. Your school, Hogwarts Academy of Math and Science. I've never heard of it before. If it takes exceptional students, how does one apply?"

"One doesn't," he had said seriously. "We find you. I'm not exactly sure how the process works, but if a student truly belongs there, they will be contacted. Just don't ask me how. They don't tell lowly professors like me."

"Oh, amen to that! We teachers are the last to know anything!"

That comment caused Snape an ironic smile. Perhaps the magical world and the Muggle one weren't so very different after all...

Severus returned to the present and the trophy shining mockingly in front of him. How sadly ironic that this was all he had now to show for the most maddening, yet somehow most enjoyable few months of his life. Amazing really, but all his grumbling and protests aside, Snape had enjoyed this far more than he ever would have believed. He almost missed the stress and strain, the sleepless nights, the furious, driving anger, and the quest for unattainable goals. The challenge had truly been fun. Looking back, the whole Cheerleading experience had been the time of his life. And it had ended _happily_, even though it eventually had to end.

How he wished it didn't have to end with Miss Granger. Now that she was leaving, Severus knew he couldn't go on with next year's team. What would be the point? He had only done it originally because he had to, and he had worked hard because it was a challenge. Now that he had conquered, there was no need to revisit the battlefield. Even if Dumbledore offered him a raise-- even if he offered him the Defense against the Dark arts job-- _that he had been wanting for over seventeen years now..._ Even if it was offered on a silver platter (with an apology added as garnish) would Snape go on with Cheerleading. Without Miss Granger the joy would be out if it. It would be simply a chore again.

Hermione's pretty face and strong, athletic body came to his mind. Who could have thought that Severus Snape would fall in love with a student-- a Gryffindor student no less? Considering his antipathy toward Gryffindors in general, it was as likely as him making a play for the moon! Yet still the fact remained. He wanted her. And he didn't just want her, he _loved_ her. Strange as it might be, this girl barely out of her teens (Snape _thought _she was twenty now, but he wasn't exactly sure) had captured his fancy as no one else ever had.

Instinctively, Snape knew that Hermione was the one woman who could be ideal for him. She was bright, as brilliant as he was, and her intelligence was directed in very much the same way. Like him, she was analytical, fascinated by knowledge for its own sake. There wasn't any subject, magical or otherwise, that Miss Granger didn't want to learn. Severus could imagine the hours of scholarly discussions they could have, the endless possibilities for collaborative research. A relationship with her would be incredibly fun! He could also envision lots of rousing theoretical arguments lending spice to what they later did in bed...

And spunky little Miss Granger wasn't afraid of him. Though she had never been anything less than respectful, she had never been intimidated by him either. At first Snape had found that irritating. He was used to intimidating people and it affronted him to find a student that didn't crumble under his personality. Yet later he had found it strangely comforting. Here was someone who could stand him at his worst, a strong person who could put up with him no matter how bad tempered or unreasonable he was. Here was a person he could count on, someone he couldn't crush or scare away. And here too was a person who would challenge him to be at his best, who wouldn't ultimately _let _him get away with bad or unreasonable behavior... A partnership with her would complete him.

But he might as well ask for the moon... and an Order of Merlin First Class while he was at it! Snape might admire Hermione Granger, might desire her, might actually love her (_and he did, heaven help him, he did)_ but there was no real way she could actually be his. Severus had as much a chance of mastering broom-less flying as he did of getting Miss Granger's status to change from his student to his lover... or ultimately his wife.

These last few weeks of school were nothing short of torture. He had to endure hours of her in his class, doing his best not to look at her or give her special attention, all the while feasting his eyes on her every chance he could. Hermione couldn't possibly know how he felt about her, and he couldn't let her know it. She had come to like him after their Cheerleading collaboration. He didn't want her shock or pity. He wanted her to remember him with respect. As a teacher, it was all he could hope for.

Snape glared at the trophy in frustration. It didn't do to want what he couldn't have. _If only he could get her out of his head!_ If only he didn't see her pretty, smiling face in his mind every time he closed his eyes... Severus had once thought himself impervious-- a boulder standing in a stream. He had felt himself aloof and remote, an immovable object, yet somehow he had been moved. Something about her bright, irrisistable energy had changed him.

How he wanted to see her smile at him. He wanted to talk with her too. If discussing Cheerleading had been fun, surely any other subject would be just as pleasant. And Snape hungered for a bit of dry, good natured banter as well. Hermione was one of the few he had ever met who had the brains and the subtlety to appreciate his sardonic humor. He hadn't realized just how lonely he was until he had found someone he could joke with. Snape found himself wondering what Hermione was doing, and what she was thinking. He found himself formulating things to say to her. He also found himself dreaming of touching her...

Snape had enough experience with women to make his imagination lethal. He knew _exactly _how soft and smooth Hermione's skin would feel, and having catalogued what proportions were visible of her in her Cheerleading uniform, it didn't take much more of a creative leap to picture the extent of her anatomy beneath it. His hands itched to caress her, his mouth to kiss her. If Albus had any idea of the wild liscentiousness going on in his mind, he would be fired on the spot!

But Snape was good at hiding his thoughts and feelings. He had been a top-notch spy, after all. He kept up a facade of nornalcy even though beneath it he was anything but normal. Every attempt to impose order on his thoughts and feelings resulted in failure, and Severus sometimes thought he was going mad. Perhaps it was good after all that Miss Granger would be leaving soon. His torture would end too... or rather it would change to a different type of torture. He would still have to endure the loss and the loneliness.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

As the last of the school year rolled relentlessly to a close, Hermione couldn't help a feeling of growing anguish. Her time at Hogwarts was almost over. Soon she would leave, never to come back, and she didn't want to have to leave. She wished she could stop time and keep the moment from finally happening, but that was foolish of course. One couldn't stay a student forever. And the real reason she wanted to stay was more foolish still. It wasn't _school_ she desperately didn't want to leave, it was _him_--Severus Snape.. the man she had discovered she was sadly, hopelessly in love with.

That discovery had come as a sudden, shocking surprise. Previously, she had only been aware of liking him. Hermione had always respected him. He was intelligent, even brilliant, with a no compromise "can do" attitude (tinged with a Slytherin _or else_ streak) that she couldn't help but admire. And he was fascinating too. The days that she had worked with him, when he had finally begun to appreciate her, she had wanted to be his friend. It was the realization that she never wanted to stop working with him-- that she wanted to see his face, hear his voice, and be near him always that made her understand her feelings went a lot deeper than friendship.

She wanted him. She wanted him in her life, and she wanted to be in his. In the last frenzied weeks of Cheerleading she had known there had been moments of attraction, but she had done her best to explain them away. The knowledge that she was beginning to desire a teacher was certainly not welcome. _It was against the rules!_ Hermione had pretended it was only imagination, nerves-- anything but the truth. But now she couldn't get away from it. As time progressed that truth had become more and more evident. Her feelings for him just couldn't be denied.

He began to show up in her dreams, his odd, homely face haunting her sleep. She thought about him often during the day, wondering where he was, what he was doing, and what he was possibly thinking. Everywhere she went in the school, the corridors, the Great hall, she found herself always looking for him. She analyzed his expressions, checking to see if he was irritated or unhappy, wishing she could help him if he was. And she was having some disturbing physical thoughts about him as well...

Hermione hadn't had a lot of romantic experience, but she wasn't really innocent either. She had just enough worldly knowledge to make her imagination quite a problem. She suffered from constant mental pictures of what loving him might be like. She thought of his expressive, long-fingered hands and imagined all the ways and places he could touch her. She saw his thin but sensual lips-- lips that only had to twitch to convey any nuance meaning. It didn't take much to imagine those same lips pressed against hers, tickling over other parts of her skin, or whispering sweet absurdities into her ear.

The secret embarrassment this caused was torture since the last thing Hermione needed in Potions was images of what she'd like to do to the _teacher, _or what she wished he would do to her... Even the sound of his voice made her blush. Thankfully, a blush only looked like a heat flush from a steaming cauldron, though Hermione had a hard time meeting her professor's eyes.

Given the state of her nerves, it was maddening how Snape seemed to pass by her cauldron more often than was necessary. It was almost as if he was trying to drive her crazy! Every time Hermione turned around, there he was. And while Snape didn't praise her work any more than usual, he did seem to pay her more attention and always appeared to be looking at her. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if her newly found feelings were obvious. He _was _a skilled legillimens. What if he _knew _she desired him, or that she was thinking totally inappropriate thoughts about him in class?

_THAT would be absolutely awful! _She'd never live down the embarrassment! Perhaps it was a good thing she was leaving soon so that she'd be able to escape the shame and the eventual hurt. What would he think of her if he knew the thoughts so frequently in her mind? He would lose all respect for her-- or laugh at her, which would be worse. She would look silly, foolish, lewd, and disgraceful. He might even think her pitiable.

Hermione knew Snape respected her. It was actually possible he liked her. There were even times when she could have sworn that he _looked _at her, but that didn't mean much. Professor Snape might notice a student was female, but he wouldn't DO anything about it! That would be against the rules. Besides, he was a man of the world, older and wiser than she was. To him she was just a child. There was no way he would see her as a possible life-mate, an equal, someone he could court. She'd only look like a silly, little schoolgirl with a crush.

Except that it wasn't a crush, it wasn't silly, and it wasn't just physical. When Hermione had discovered she had feelings for Snape, her first assumption was that it _was _a schoolgirl fancy. She had experienced such things before, after all. But even then, from the moment of discovery she had known (though the knowledge was unwelcome) that this was far more serious than a simple crush.

For one thing, no one had crushes on Professor Snape. It was unthinkable, unnatural. Teachers like Lupin (and earlier, Lockhart) were the sort that received such attention. Snape didn't even have hangers on or student pets the way Flitwick and Hagrid did. True, he had treated Draco Malfoy with favor, but he had been his godfather. No one else had received special treatment, and no one treated him special in return. Like sardine ice cream or garlic pudding, such things just _couldn't _be.

And her feelings weren't based on what crushes usually were. Severus Snape wasn't handsome or even remotely charming. He wasn't generally likable either, and before this Cheerleading episode, even Hermione hadn't considered him so. Snape was a homely man, one who made no attempt to appear anything _but _homely. Because he didn't seem to want to be liked, Professor Snape was the most _disliked_ teacher in the entire school. WHO would have a crush on someone like that-- a nasty, ugly man who made people miserable? Who could possibly have feelings for him? No one except her...

To Hermione, those negatives didn't seem to matter. She didn't care at all what he looked like. His appearance was unimportant beyond the fact that it was _his_ appearance and no one else's. And she couldn't help feeling there was something beautiful in his very ugliness—something unique and fascinating. Even his prickly personality had ceased to really bother her. Hermione knew it was only an outer shell that hid his other, better qualities.

There was more to the professor than that snide, harsh facade. He had passion and strength, wisdom and integrity, honor alongside his power. Dignity lay behind the remote, taciturn expression, responsibility behind his hardness. Snape was the one teacher most likely to protect students-- even if he verbally fried them in the process. Look how he had rushed forward, without care for himself, to help that injured cheerleader! There was goodness in Snape, goodness he kept hidden.

Hermione didn't mind the harsh exterior as long as she knew that goodness was there. She didn't need sugary sweetness or insipid adoration from a lover. She didn't really want the sort of vapid, puppy dog affection Ron Weasley and her other former admirers had given her. Such things had seemed nice in the beginning-- when it was wonderful just to be admired and wanted-- but after a while, unless there was something deeper and more substantial, boredom had always set in.

There was no way Severus Snape would ever bore her. Hermione understood that instinctively. She could sense there was someone worthwhile behind the off-putting exterior, someone who would be very rewarding to know. Snape was a man would could challenge her-- engage her mind and keep her interested. He was someone who could make her laugh, a person she could talk to as an equal.

All her life, Hermione had never belonged. She had always felt like a peg from one of those shape-matching games she had mastered as a child-- a square peg, of course. In those games, all the pegs actually had a place. It had always frustrated her that finding her own place wasn't that simple. There didn't seem to be a hole in life the right shape for her, and she certainly didn't fit into her family's normal, well ordered world. How happy she had been when her Hogwarts letter came, thinking she had finally found her proper place, a custom shape hole the right size for her.

Except even that hadn't been easy. She did indeed fit into the Wizarding World, but that fit wasn't exactly comfortable. There were places still that pinched and chafed. All she had in common with most wizards was the fact of her magic. So much else about her still didn't belong and other Muggleborn witches and wizards assimilated with far more ease than she did. No matter how much she learned, or how much she excelled at magic, she still seemed alien and out of place.

But not with Snape. In him she really seemed to have found someone like herself, who thought in much the same way. Here was a man who conversed on her level-- on subjects she actually found interesting, and who didn't think her intelligence odd or unbecoming. Here was a man who would be challenging to keep up with, and who wouldn't bore her or expect her to change to satisfy his ego. This was a man who could be perfect for her-- or as near perfect as one could expect. She could picture herself living with him, spending the rest of her life with him. She supposed it was stupid to be thinking this way, but she really couldn't help it. _She had seen a part of Snape that no one else had._

When she had lent him her power that day at the Competition, when she had touched his hand and joined her will to his, she had felt the touch of his mind and tasted the flavor of his soul. In that instant, and in the moments that followed, she had known without a doubt that here was the one man she could feel utterly comfortable with, the one person with whom she could finally belong. Here was the proper hole to fit her square peg-- or (considering the male/female aspect) was it the proper peg to fit her hole?

But he was her teacher and that made it all impossible. What good was it to finally find a man who interested her and who excited her as no other ever had, if convention was completely against them? The barriers between them were insurmountable. There could never be a future for them if they weren't free to come together, and Hermione knew Snape would never break convention. He would never think about her as a lover or life-mate if it were against the rules. There was no hope at all.

Hermione remembered back to the Competition, and that frenzied moment of celebration when she had hugged him. That moment would be all she would ever have of Severus Snape. Perhaps she could get a Pensieve...


	19. Epilogue

These characters and their setting are the property of J. Rowling and her associates and affiliates.

**Chapter 19: **_**Epilogue **_

"You look curiously despondent," said Dumbledore, who had invaded Snape's office with the aparent dubious intent of dispensing cheer.

Snape did his best to scowl and bear it, hoping he wouldn't have to swallow too many lemon drops to get the meddling old man to leave. He didn't relish the thought of telling the headmaster what was really bothering him, but of course it wouldn't come to that. If he just kept his cool, Dumbledore would eventually give up. Short of Occlumency, there was no real way his employer could _make _him spill his guts, and he knew Albus was too much of a gentleman to use that in anything other than an emergency. Severus continued to keep quiet while desperately willing his superior not to notice his nervousness. Dumbledore eyed him shrewdly.

"This is Quite a change from your usual glee at seeing our students leave, Severus-- and highly unlike you." He gave Snape a knowing look. "But I think I know what's troubling you. It is Miss Granger, is it not?"

Severus looked up at him sharply, watchful wariness evident in every line. _How in Merlin's name had he found out? _

"What do you mean?" he asked in alarm.

"Oh, I have eyes, Severus. I couldn't fail to see how you've been looking at her. And... I've noticed the way she looks at _you_ on occasion as well."

A fierce wave of incredulous joy shot through Snape upon hearing that. _Was Albus right? Could she really have looked at him like __that? _But he quelled that thought swiftly. It couldn't be true. It was outside the realm of reason! Dumbledore was most certainly hallucinating. But... Why wasn't the old man angry at him? Why wasn't he in trouble? Dumbledore should be shocked that one of his teachers was leching after a student!

"You needn't look at me like that!" scoffed the headmaster. "These things DO happen, and far more frequently than people suspect. And I have absolute trust that you've been a perfect gentleman around her. You're too much a stickler for rules to have been anything else! Oh, don't think I condemn you, Severus, my boy. I know exactly how you feel. After all, I was young once myself..."

Snape's eyes bugged in disbelief. "You're not telling me that YOU...?"

Dumbledore's face turned mildly admonishing. "I also followed the rules, Severus. It is always good to do so-- even if I'm now often accused of encouraging students to break them. But I never condone the breaking of _serious _regulation-- only foolish little school rules. Conventions are there for a reason. But happily, the strictures regarding you and Miss Granger will soon be over. In a few short days she will no longer be your student."

"But she will leave here!" Snape spat in frustration. "She will go on with her life, go on to bigger and better things, and she'll forget me as soon as she's out. I'll probably never see her again."

"I suppose it would be completely out of the question to suggest to you that you _court _her..." was Dumbledore's dry suggestion. "Your intentions are eventually_ honorable_, are they not?"

"Well of course they are, but..."

Severus sighed bleakly. How did a teacher go about courting a former student? What was the protocol? Did he send her candy and flowers out of the blue? Should he show up at the Granger door, get down on one knee, and formally ask permission to woo her?

It wasn't as if they had the proper history to begin a courtship. They didn't have an equal, casual friendship to build on, or a situation where they could run into each other often. How could it be possible to slowly craft a relationship, to convince her the idea even had merit, if he could only see her sporadically? It would never happen. Maybe they did have all the right qualities for a successful partnership, but as in potion making, the ingredients had to be combined in the right way and in the right setting. With him here at the school, bogged down with Dumbledore's summer potion projects, and her out there fancy free, he wouldn't stand a chance. Some young man on the spot would catch her eye and claim her.

Dumbledore broke into his reverie. "Of course the easiest way to solve your problem would be to keep Miss Granger _here_. And of course there is a way. Why don't you make her your apprentice?"

"How could that possibly solve my problem?" Snape growled sourly.

"Well," the headmaster began patiently as if talking to a very stubborn child, "She would be _here_... working closely with _you_... and sharing quarters very nearby your own..."

"I realize that, Albus! I'm not a DUNCE! But she'd be my _student_ again!"

Albus shook his head. "You're being extremely obtuse, you know..."

"_What's the matter with you?"_ Snape shouted, jumping up explosively and pacing around the room. "**Don't you understand? **I want to f—k her, Albus! Shag, shtup, screw, bang, tumble, YOU supply the terminology! Does the word "Coitus" register? I _WANT _her... _CARNALLY! _And yes my intentions are ultimately honorable, but I can't help the fact that I want her NOW! How can I _possibly_ take her as my apprentice? I'd never be able to keep my hands off her, no matter how hard I tried. Eventually I'd violate the student/teacher boundaries and you'd end up having to FIRE me!" He glowered at Albus.

"Dear dear, Severus," said Dumbledore sadly. "Words can't express how disappointed I am with you."

Snape slumped, hanging his head in shame.

"This isn't like you at all, my boy. Not up to your usual standards. Normally you're far sharper than this! Why, in all the years I've known you, this is the very first time I've ever seen you... _fail to do your homework._"

Severus stopped pacing and looked up, confused. "Homework? What the _hell _are you talking about?"

Dumbledore's reply was mockingly stern. "_Have you ever bothered to READ the rules of apprenticeship?"_

The Potions master just stared at him blankly.

"Obviously not, I see. And shame on you! How can you call yourself a serious teacher if you're not up on all the rules and regulations?" He paused and considered Snape's stunned expression. "Close your mouth, my boy. You'll let in flies." Severus shut his mouth automatically.

The headmaster snapped his fingers and a scroll appeared. "I suggest you read these rules now. I'll even supply you a copy." He handed the scroll to the almost dumbfounded Snape and the old familiar twinkle flashed in his eyes. "My gift to you, Severus. I think you'll find it illuminating. Enjoy!"

He turned with a chuckle and left the room while Severus grabbed the scroll and untied it with eager, slightly trembling, fingers.

HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Hermione descended the stairs on the way down to the dungeons with a flutter of sad expectation in her heart. She was going to see him one last time, even if it was just to pick up the Cheerleading manuals and her computer. It had been a task she had been procrastinating for weeks. After all, once she had them back, there would be no future excuses to see Professor Snape out of class. It was silly of course, but Hermione had felt, however illogically, that if she kept putting it off, that moment of parting might somehow never come. She had liked to think there was always one more meeting to look forward to.

But she had left it off for too long. The professor himself had sent her an owl that morning with a quick, terse, very "Snapish" type note.

_Miss Granger,_

_Come to my office to pick up the Cheerleading material you left with me._

_Tonight after the Leaving Feast would be acceptable._

_S.S._

She had felt a little ashamed after reading that summons. He must think her forgetful and negligent to have left her things with him for so long-- or perhaps even daft. (If anyone knew how she felt about Snape they would certainly say she was crazy!) And well, she thought soberly as butterflies staged a brawl in her stomach, she _had_ been busy with the N.E.W.T.'s. Terribly busy. She had spent every possible moment studying-- hours and days at a time. The fact that she had thought of him, seen his face in her mind throughout all of it, was something she had to keep secret. She could only imagine Snape's sarcastically raised eyebrow if he knew.

Snape was sitting at his desk when she entered the office, shiny curtains of raven black hair half obscuring his odd, homely face. He was scratching something onto a parchment but paused as she entered, looking up to pierce her with dark, agate eyes.

"Miss Granger," he said. "You have neglected to take back your Cheerleading manuals... and your computer."

"I'm sorry sir," she said quickly. "I was a little preoccupied, you see."

"The N.E.W.T.'s. Yes, I understand. Knowing you, I suppose you studied every waking hour... and quite a few of your non-waking hours as well."

"Um, yes. I rather did."

He nodded. "I was the same way. But now that they're thankfully over, you can go on with the rest of your life. I'm sure you did well. You were one of the best students Hogwarts ever had."

Hermione blushed a little under this unexpected praise.

"For a Gryffindor..." he added sardonically, an eye brow raised her way.

"Yes sir." She suppressed a smile.

"So what are your plans upon leaving?"

"I don't know really. I'm sure I will have to look for work. Mr. Weasley says he has a few possibilities for me at the Ministry." She sighed. "I can't imagine a life of office work though. It just doesn't sound very exciting. But the only other offer I've had is for research and development at Fred and George's joke shop, and that sounds a little _too_ exciting. I think it's sad that the Wizarding World doesn't offer university degrees. What I really would like to do is to keep on studying."

"You could always apprentice yourself," he said softly.

"Yes, I suppose I could." was her absent reply. Hermione picked up the top book in the pile on the desk. It was _Cheerleading: The ultimate guide.__" _She looked at Professor Snape. "You know, I could leave the books with you. That way you'll have references if you're going to help next year's team." _And maybe I could come back sometime to visit, and pick the books up later..._

Snape frowned slightly. "I don't suppose I'll be going on with it next year. It was an experiment, you know... and a punishment from the headmaster as well." He smirked at Hermione from a wry face and she worked hard to keep her expression bland. _She knew it had to be a punishment! _

"Now that the point has been proved," he went on, "I can't imagine I'll be forced to continue. It would be problematic anyway. Our present team is losing six members since you, the Patils, and the Miss's Ramsbottom, Sweet, and Brockelhurst have all just graduated. Whoever takes the team next year will have to build it up from ground level. I certainly wouldn't attempt to do that without you, Miss Granger. You were the actual coach, after all."

This time Hermione did smile. "I think you'd make a _great_ coach!" she told him warmly.

"I'd rather be a Faculty Advisor than a coach. I do know my limitations."

"I understand," she said looking sad.

"You and I made an excellent team ourselves, didn't we?" he added quietly.

"Yes. We did." Hermione had a lump in her throat. "And it was so much fun. It was one of the best times I ever had and I'm really going to miss it." Her voice trembled a little as she added. "I'm going to miss you too, Professor."

Tears were stinging in her eyes, so she didn't look at him. She didn't want him to see her foolishness. _This was it. This was really goodbye. If only there was some other way she could still be near him... S_he heard, rather than saw, the professor get up and walk around his desk to approach her. Perhaps he saw the tears. Perhaps he felt sorry for her, or maybe she had irritated him and he was just going to hurry her out of his office. Hermione wondered if she could give him another quick hug before running out of his life forever...

"I shall miss you as well, Miss Granger," he said, in a hushed tone. "If you do indeed leave. Though you needn't actually leave at all. Why not remain here at Hogwarts and continue our partnership? You could stay on as an apprentice, keep on with your studies, and coach the new team on the side."

Hermione shook her head. "That sounds wonderful, Professor. But it isn't possible. There are no apprentice positions open for next year."

"There's one in Potions."

She looked up at him in surprise. "Potions!" she exclaimed. "You mean, be _your _apprentice?"

"Well, that would be the logical conclusion, would it not?" His lips twitched ironically.

"But you don't take apprentices! Everyone knows that. You never have!"

He moved closer. "That is true. I don't, or rather I didn't... until now. I will make an exception in your case, Hermione. I'll take you and _only_ you," he said softly. "If you are willing..."

Their eyes met and suddenly Hermione realized that he wanted her-- really _wanted _her, and that he also knew she wanted him (and that he knew that she knew...) There was a breathless minute where reality seemed suspended, and then he reached forward and brushed his hand against her face. She didn't move, didn't dare break the spell. He was touching her... coming closer... fingers tickling into her hair. Without thinking about what she was doing, Hermione leaned forward, eager for what would follow. And then he was kissing her, mouth gentle but insistent, warm, sensual, incredibly fulfilling...

Hermione kissed him back for a few seconds, her mouth opening joyfully to his, and her arms moving up to encircle him. He was kissing her! He actually wanted her! Oh how tender he was, yet so wildly exciting... Strong, lean arms tightened around her as he pulled her into a passionate embrace, and Hermione felt like melting. This was what she had always wanted. She could do this forever.

Then reality hit an instant later. Hermione suddenly stiffened and her blissfully closed eyes opened wide in alarm. _What was she doing? This was a TEACHER! What the world were they thinking? _She tried to pull away from him, twisting her head and bringing her hands up to push against his chest. Snape, however, didn't seem willing to let her go.

"P...P...P...Professor..." she began breathlessly.

"Severus," he corrected, kissing her again, and she gasped as his tongue tickled deliciously around her mouth. A bomb seemed to explode somewhere in her gut sending hot, tingling fire all through her. Her limbs trembled. Oh how she wanted him-- every bit of him! But she couldn't. She just shouldn't! She had to stop this, and soon. Another few minutes and she'd never be able to stop.

"S...Severus," she stammered, gasping for air between kisses.

"Less talk, Hermione," he whispered, his sensual tone sending her waves of desire. She rallied every ounce of her strength.

"Severus, wait..."

"Hush, sweet. I told you no talking. You're making it hard for me to properly seduce you..."

"But that's just it!" she squeaked. "We... we really shouldn't be doing this!"

"And why shouldn't we?" That dusky velvet voice was the last word in eroticism.

She moved a little more away from him, anguish fighting with guilt and resolve. "Because we shouldn't! It's wrong! You... you wanted me to be your apprentice. Aren't there rules or something? I mean about masters and apprentices.. um... doing this sort of thing?"

Snape's lips curved into a smirk. "No," he replied with a gleam of wicked, smug triumph. "Actually there aren't. Where there are _very _strict rules concerning the conduct of teachers and minor students, the rules governing the behavior of master and apprentice are really quite broad. A wide range of personal relationships are allowed for in the contract-- including sexual relationships, up to, and including marriage." Then he paused and looked at her seriously.

"Oh, and by the way, I'll throw that in the deal too," he added while Hermione only stared. "Since I was planning to make the offer eventually, I might as well make it now. All things considered, being married to me would definitely make being apprenticed to me far more bearable for you. As my wife, you'd be my equal. You'll need it."

Hermione continued staring for one glorious moment and then she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Yes!" she whispered. "_Yes!_"

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Severus wrapped his arms around the sweet young thing hugging him tightly and pressed her deliciously close to him. He could feel the strong, lush contours of her, the warm promise. Another miracle had happened to him, and Hermione was somehow his. His to hold, his to love, and his to keep if he had anything to say about it. And it had all seemed to happen so suddenly. Snape had been prepared for a long, hard campaign, a difficult interval of careful wooing. Who could have thought the girl had already fallen for him? Who could believe he could be so lucky?

He had called her into his office, having waited carefully until the latest possible time to do so, all the while wondering if she had merely only forgotten her Cheerleading books and videos, or if she simply didn't care about them anymore. They had talked and reminisced about the team, and then he had asked her to be his apprentice-- to stay at Hogwarts, study under him, and presumably go on coaching the team...

There had been a tense, electrically charged moment after he had made his offer, and Snape knew that moment was critical. Pivoting on top of an unsteady fulcrum was his future and all that he had ever desired in life-- desired without ever knowing he had done so. It was all up to her. Either she would stay with him and give him a chance, or she would leave him sadly alone. He knew the cards were stacked against him. Why should she pick apprenticeship with him when so many opportunities abounded?

And then she had looked up at him in radiant joy. Their eyes met, and suddenly Severus knew in that moment that she wanted him, had wanted him all along, and that she was his for the taking. Snape couldn't help the instinctive reaction. Being the essential Slytherin, of course he had to take her. There was no other logical course of action.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had reached out to caress her face and let his hands explore the wealth of her hair. Her eyes had widened a little, and she had leaned forward ever so slightly into his touch. He could hear her breath catch in her throat, sense her pulse quickening. Desire surged within him and he swept her into a tender embrace and kissed her, exulting in the feel of her soft lips, the warm, lush, sweetness of her. He had wanted her for so long and now she was actually here in his arms...

The wild rush of exultant desire had carried him a little away. The incredible joy of actually touching her, holding her, led Severus to lay all his cards on the table, throw caution to the wind, and propose to her too-- and he hadn't meant to do that just yet. The plan had been to seduce her first and let nature innevitably take over from there. Jumping the gun might scare her away. He might lose her before he ever actually had her. Snape waited anxiously. Had he ruined it all? But suddenly she was in his arms again, a warm willing angel who held him tight and whispered "Yes! Oh yes!"

When she finally let go of him, there were tears in the corner of her eyes and he kissed them. He liked the taste of tears, and looked forward to sampling other more intimate delights. Severus was a thorough lover and he planned to do nothing halfway with Hermione. He'd make sure she enjoyed him as much as he enjoyed her, and given the extent of her incredible athleticism, he envisioned hours of exquisite pleasure...

"So that's a yes?" he murmured.

"Yes," she whispered back.

He rubbed his nose gently against hers. "Yes to what, apprenticeship or marriage?"

"Both actually." She sounded breathlessly shy.

"Good!" he said with a triumphant smirk and gave her a long, deep, lingering kiss in which his tongue explored every inch of her open, willing mouth. He felt her body tremble against him as he pulled her deliciously closer. Snape could tell by her response that, though she wasn't a wanton of long experience, Hermione wasn't completely innocent either, and that suited him. He looked eagerly forward to her imminent ravishment. To the victor went the spoils.

Yet he couldn't help feeling a tiny stab of apprehensive regret at the sound of her soft ecstatic sigh. She was still innocent enough- far more innocent than he was. She was all brightness and optimism, while Snape was more than a little dark. The combination was dangerous. This girl deserved better than what he could give her. In a very _un-_Slytherin moment, he decided to give her a warning. He pulled her warm, willing form temporarily away from him.

"Miss Granger, I must tell you. You may not know what you are letting yourself in for by accepting me. As much as I want you, love you, and truly have the best intentions concerning you, I will most definitely disappoint you." His gaze was suddenly sober. "No matter how hard I try to prevent it, conflict is sadly inevitable, Hermione. I'm a difficult person to get along with at the best of times, and life with me will not be easy." He paused ruefully. "It's likely to be one, wild, rollicking ride more than anything else."

She looked up at him, her warm, brown eyes gleaming with mischief and mystery as her arms slid around him again. Snape suddenly knew he had little to fear. Hermione, Gryffindore to the last, considered herself equal to any challenge.

"Bring it on!" she whispered.


End file.
